years balancing
on the edge
of words
Author: Jim Kacian
Jim Kacian is Director of The Haiku Foundation and owner of Red Moon Press, which means he doesn't kayak enough.
end of summer thunder slow and far away
downstream slightly faster than the debris
the vast west
railroad cars decouple
in the dark
exchanging money entropy at the heart of the universe
ancient night . . .
what i know in the daylight
disappears
back in time and space isn’t much matter
against
the blue
the blue
fly flies
against
the pane
burning off the spirits the bright blue flame
a boat’s lone light rocks between sky and sea
just past mauve paddling hard for a dark shore
night paddling the land blacker than the sea
how cleverly the word divides us
in the curve of the piano a face disappears into itself
goodbye hugs—
all the places
where we touch
sheltered by the bus stop empties
in the pool
of the ruined resort
the wild ducks
election night smoke from an unseen cigar
migrating geese
rising
out of my chair