Her Mandala Heart

Her Mandala Heart
Her madras-sea of blue kimono dye  
is not a book for the casual reader
From whose blue feather pages    
She peeks like a bird from her nest    
With robin sky-egg eyes

“She is like a fresh powder of Bavarian snow  
who wore a wreath of edelweiss flowers  
Before a teary bon voyage  
to the merchant colonies of Japan  
as a bride to the samurai  
her pale complexion
is a natural kabuki    
who is the cherry blossom spring
of his wife”

Knees at the heart of the mandala rug  
In the land of eternal dawn    
Her Kyoto rosary is a sutra song  
Each lilt a saffron bead of love
Her fashion is a silkworm dream
for slippery eels in coveted spaces