These poems cover over forty years. Writing them is like collecting the bubbles which stream away from the stern of a small boat crossing a vast ocean. They are all different. They are all the same. Fragile, inconsequential bubbles of livingness. The subject matter ranges from Oxford, its colleges and ghosts, to the Far East with its temples, its hunger for life (and concrete jungles), and its two and a half thousand year old Buddhism. Here, Theravada...