Oh Lonely Rock

Cold water flutters in the mountain stream beneath the unearthly clarity of a starburst sky. Invisible frogs chirp like happy birds to the pure naked rock wall across the river. The noble passion between a perfect moment and eternity. Doors, windows, words, silent prayer, nor deep meditation could open wide enough to let us in, or out. For the first time I think I understand. A jealous God.

                     a leaf turning slowly past the pilgrim’s deep bow

Faces in the Dark

Wink at the ink and the ink winks backs. It is a strange relationship I have with the words I write. They come from different places: the words of others, the mysteries of the muse, the vast architecture of language, where holy music plays. They come to me as gifts. They are mine, though not exactly me. They keep a part of me growing older, still in the limbo of time, where life becomes stories. To fashion to remember what never might have been. Sunlight failing against a wall. What is left in these fragile monuments, these chapels where I venerate my other selves? Chapels built on the ruins of chapels. Ten thousand prayers for the dead, chanting words I need to know.

                                                             night’s song

                                                             scribbled in stars

                                                             gravity’s nebula

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 Robert Witmer has resided in Japan for the past 46 years. Now an emeritus professor, he has taught courses in poetry and short fiction not only at his home university in Tokyo but also in India. His poems have appeared in many print and online journals, including Lily Poetry Review, The Mean Street Rag, Bacopa Literary Review, New Verse News, Parody, Stone Poetry Quarterly, Bewildering Stories, The Opiate, and Moonday Mag.  He has also published two collections of poetry, Finding a Way (2016) and Serendipity (2023). A third book, Sunrise in a Rabbit Hole, will be published in 2025.