Category: Issue 16.1

leaving the wayfarers’ chapel moonlight

full moon a path across the river only one may walk  

a river’s song darkness settles first in its stones

Easter Sunday a For Sale sign leans into birdsong  

grace . . . the one whose eyes are opened  

strawberries… all she knows of spring desire

wildflowers . . . great are the affairs of bees

late show on TV — I finish cleaning up for the cleaning lady  

as if I’m royalty — blossoms beneath my feet

spinning a carousel of postcards I see my town as a tourist       (originally appeared in bottle rockets, #32, Feb 2015)

small town where I grew up a rusty penny on the tracks

sepia tones the way they spoke back then

family reunion forgotten in a locket  

old friends . . . the garden fading into twilight

visitor sign-in the unrelenting cheerfulness of daffodils  

hospice bed each breath a lifetime

Illustrator The oaks turn gold, glorious with loss. Fate and light seem the same. And on this warm November morning I wonder where and what my late sister is. Does she

snow on mars tonight earth’s flaming arrow   (for David Bowie, 1/8/47-1/10/16)     (originally appeared in Roadrunner 8.4)

drifting stars the blues song deep in me  

lightning then thunder the steel strings of the guitar hum

mirage we walk all day into the future

old pond oil slick rainbows slip in  

pear blossoms another parking ticket for my stolen car

finally at peace with my pear shape stone buddha    

falling behind the serious hikers wild raspberries

adopted — at the river’s origin I quench my thirst     (originally appeared in Bottle Rockets #34)

Caribbean cruise getting away with all these people  

king sized bed room enough for separate dreams

  thunder in the middle of his dream diary  

  all day rain clicking my pen again and again  

  Writing is Like Fishing, Which is Like Love The waves keep coming and going. Cormorants and terns. Too many to make a moment of. A heron steps like a feathered

  paper dolls — she tries on her mother’s voice  

  conversation with my daughter a ribbon of honey in my tea  

all the kids on my lap top  

  passwords the family pet lives on

  family reunion — the camera timer goes off too soon

  kneading flour– I fold into myself       (originally appeared in The Asahi Shimbun, January 15, 2016)

  plates clinking in the dishwasher evening sleet

  a few words from the doctor crows on snow

  living alone in the blizzard of forgetfulness … snowflakes obscure the world outside the nursing home  

  winter light the kindest of strangers

  so much expected of the red snow shovel unless it rains  

Piazza San Marco the snow falling in my selfie

  sugar snow sifting through evergreens empty nests, full

winter winds… the scent of apples in empty baskets

  Slow-falling snowflakes the black queen captures another pawn  

  mushroom cloud before Los Alamos just a shape  

ruined mansion the gate still stands but not the fence  

in the pond the face of autumn rippling  

all hallows’ eve my skeleton awaits its night out

age the altered landscape of my dreams

  old vagrant his ring of sparrows  

  old journal a stranger to myself  

midday sun the fence’s shadow switching yards  

seed catalog the colours of a winter daydream

landscape   A few strokes to complete the mountainscape. Darken the clouds and smudge the trees with my little finger. Something is still missing…   half

out of silence the piccolo player’s bright red nails

  drowsy afternoon… the bangle-seller’s call the length of an alley       (Previously published at The Heron’s Nest, June

Orion’s belt the darkest part of the path

Perseid shower I fall with every star (This haiku won Honorable Mention in the 19th Mainichi Haiku Contest)

  drinking tea our hands orbit the cups  

working overtime the scent of fried onions in empty takeout    

  dory crossing the light labor of a gull  

lilac blossoms weighed down by steady rain commencement day  

  her plait in step with her hips a string of jasmine       (First published in Bones, an e-book in PDF format by Kala Ramesh and Marlene Mountain)

  wolf whistle — she runs her ringed fingers through her hair

taking root in foreign soil – wild rosemary  

  headphones from one hemisphere to the next  

thunderheads I can’t let go of my argument

a dragonfly pausing the wind    

  the bee sting of bourbon shots- grandpa’s hidden whiskey

A Week   A week after her son passed away she finally found his favorite movie and sat down in front of the TV. to infinity and beyond low tide

campfire I disappear with the moth  

  pooling where the creek bends fish

  the last trawler leaves the harbour moonlight quivers

evening zephyr — the earth turns over in sleep

ground swell the day moon draws closer

first stars… I turn the sand out of my pockets

private beach the kids build an ivory tower

abandoned beach house slowly the dunes move in