in the space
between falling rain
and loneliness . . .
the song
that once was ours
in the space
between falling rain
and loneliness . . .
the song
that once was ours
Ceasefire
Yesterday, it was a grenade that refused to go off. Today, it’s the shaggy dog we have often seen across the border howling into the thin night air.
cloudburst …
my son adds his voice
to the rumble
chardonnay . . .
the scent of summer
in a blue-throat’s song
Ooroo
As I wait for the evening bus to my hometown, a stray sidles up to me, sniffing with a dusty nose and occasionally brushing it against my jeans. She then settles