"Wonderful prelude..."

(for Hafiz)

I felt like getting
rid of all my things
one Saturday morning;
I took a walk to clear my head

and missed her call,
looking at the Buddha
(green), impassive
stare reflection.

How many more did I miss,
distracted by Modigliani,
distracted by Botticelli,

I watched a boy so high stumble
through the art parade of life
on a Saturday morning

and met La Cienega,
smiling vision of Kali,
another fractured heart
dangling round her neck.

My mind is unable
to comprehend,
utterly, all the
beauty I see.

Why else would I write these poems?