Ingrid Fichtner


Delhi … Sahitya …


and marigolds … a myriad


of blossoms … am I in for a

shower? … am I in for a soak?


What makes me think of velvet?

What makes me think of canopies?

What makes me think of sweet pea

and sweet William in front of dragon

flowers dragonflies and damselflies

(the bodies … eyes … the wings)

in what is called a rose garden?

What makes me think of seedlings?

Is this a different spring?

I see the leaves I see the litter

I see the cracks I see the bud

I do not know the scales …

Am I to get to know the soil?

Do I hear a tanpura? I’d like to hug

this Banyan tree not only speak

of it … am I in for a soak?

And for a change back to here ...


this morning but

lightly come and lightly go

I tell myself

like snow …

beneath the clouds

the flakes are growing

larger now
I cannot count the shapes

beneath the clouds

the bells are ringing

louder first then fading

there’s not one love

I tell myself

there’s not one landscape

that’s eternal


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