hanging in my closet the person I used to be
Month: January 2014
gossiping among themselves
their stories
centuries old
(haiga – click through to view)
Zen garden
the tourist dips his toe
in the gravel
wind chimes
the gentle rain
he would have loved
lost
in my own world
ground fog
Hiking
(a short haibun — click through to read it)
bark beetles
in the Ponderosa pine
these gnawing doubts
where forest was
the old map is thick
with dust
New sheets.
I remember
your hands.
I always thought
mother’s silk pillow cases
a luxury
now that they are mine I dream
silk worms threading light to light
stone
by stone, the river
widens
moon bridge
the wide mouth
of a silver koi
a shivering moon
in the kayak’s wake
wood ducks resettle
obedience school
for the dog
for me
finally
it finds a home
this feral cat
my son brings home
to bury
wildflower . . .
not needing to know
its name
dandelions
all over
again
cowbells . . .
the pasture view
never the same
Siesta
Half-sunk in the undergrowth, an abandoned bamboo swing. Perched atop, a sparrow couple in disagreement about whether to set up their nest here or not. The
a lily’s chalice
brimmed
with the empty sky
as she turns to leave
my mother’s
girlish smile
(originally appeared in Valley Micropress (NZ), June, 2010)
apple slices—
our last words
in the knife?s blade
night shade i close my eyes and disappear