shorter days . . .
wizened grapes
cling to the vine
(Originally published in A Hundred Gourds, June 2012)
Month: March 2013
Monday Morning Coffee Break
(Addis Ababa, Ethiopia)
A barefoot man with ropes slung over his shoulders and a long-handled axe in his belt scoots up a eucalypt, tearing
two baristas
deconstruct their boyfriends
all night rain
cold winter rain
the swollen creek also
rushing home
leaf in the wind . . .
for one breath I imagine
an end like this
reminding myself
this isn’t the first sunrise
she didn’t see —
just the first we saw
without her
Kesennuma
among the sunlit wrecks
the sounds of gulls
(originally from the 17th International “Kusamakura” Haiku Competition
outgoing tide
the old sailor’s gaze
moves inward
bitter wind
the smell of honey
in the empty hive
wild strands
blown from an empty nest
I grow my hair long again
November walk —
settling for what’s left
of the bittersweet
(2nd Place Winner of the 2012 Robert Frost International Poetry Contest)
barely
longer than a cardinal’s call . . .
winter haiku
butterfly
under her skin
the ink takes shape
spring winds —
knowing just how
to touch you
unable to help myself rip tide
day moon —
the poem sounded better
last night
(originally published in ko 27.4, autumn-winter 2012)
autumn mist as far as roads will reach
morning walk —
wrapped and unwrapped
by the fog
at
the
deep
end
of
the
sky
prairie
late afternoon
each tombstone
in its neighbor’s shadow
the creek
where she was baptized
sun after rain