Category: Issue 20.2

late summer
sunflowers
make their entrance

the closed-up
amusement park
cicadas roar

fireflies on the outskirts of a moment

lemonade stand
the play of light and shadow
on her masked face

dandelion field
September
floats away

a sad song
on repeat
September leaves

COVID summer
swinging from the tetherball pole
a length of spider web

faint stars
the sidewalk stains
of wild mulberries

thin summer bargaining for more

covid summer
recycling
travel brochures

breezy sunshine
on baseball’s opening day
cutout fans

stealing home
the dragonfly darts
from reeds to shore

dugout
chatter
house sparrows

the barn owl
shaking his head
debate night

harvest moon
laughter bubbles
from the neighbor’s hot tub

autumn in the air
a flit-dip
of chickadees

old kite
that never flew …
early autumn

yellow flecks
the evening sky
fallen apples

hard frost
a blue tarp saddles
the old barn’s roof

not yet ready
to head back inside
coyote mind

pandemic
the welcome mat
removed

face mask
the eyes reveal
only so much

trick-or-treating
the warmth
of the skeleton’s hand

All Hallow’s Eve
the demons not wearing
their masks

gradually
i resemble the corpse
i will be

plague year
another wave
from the President

wind in the wind chimes
early morning thoughts
of the afterlife

lost
in the corn maze
autumn wind

updating
my employment status
falling leaves

morning mist
we step
into nothing

a soldier’s return
hill-country bluebonnets
line the road

the ones saved
 for the confessional
  war stories

fireworks…
phantasms turn
to gunsmoke

thunder
I slide a kigo
into the gun

I am
                        the city

twice born

                        imprisoned

with no key
to return

                         a nonchalant moon
                         passes through

new inmate
on the inside of her wrists
butterfly tattoos

in the dark
the sound
gun’s safety

lockdown -
        a tin can
 rolling
           back and forth
    with the wind

supermarket queue
within our circles
within ourselves

autumn a little more paprika

Essential

We’ve been going without lately, living a strange, reduced life.

paring knife
cutting away
the excess

lifting the tips
of a spruce tree’s needles
November sun

a rustling
from within
deep autumn

crowded café
a fly goes in and out
of our conversation

spider
in a web
trapping stars

(Originally published in Akitsu Quarterly, Spring 2020)

midnight
a dog barks
the freight train’s length

humpback moon
into the krill’s silence
distant song

higher tides
crabs scuttling
on asphalt

storm surge–
the rising cost
of beach sand

blistering heat a little bounce in the asphalt

melting glaciers the river styx widens

all the plans
we thought we had
sandcastles

art installation
learning again
what I don’t know

art installation
learning again
what I don’t know

library room-
i read her
page by page

first raindrop
words then the story
sinks in

lab report …
in my sister’s voice
winter rain

paper cut
the medical bill’s
sharp edge

on the walking path
I disappear
inside my mask

sheltering
the white flutter
of prayer flags

folding prayers. . .
a thousand paper cranes
kindling
this flame
for peace

thin edge of entropy winter stars

chimes
the wind
in place

vineyard
tasting
the sunset

lifting a glass
to my dear friends…
winter stars

New Year —
I regret last year’s
resolutions

moving again
Buddha in a box
labeled fragile

new sheets
on a new bed
a new loneliness

half moon …
a love
that never was

silver heron
a splash of moonlight
across the pier

kingfisher
a rattle as the river
turns south

morning heat
the neighbor packs down
his cigarettes

early summer
a small town traffic light
green for no one

rural isolation
the secret life
of dandelions

summer heat
more fruit flies
than fruit

summer quiet
the tallest daylily
sways

a hole
through the magnolias
flower moon

porch lights
a trombone slides
into the night

sand castle
already the waves
make themselves at home

a buoy bobs
in the wake zone
lulled gulls

rehashing
an old argument
frost heaves

winter night
we wrap ourselves up
in rumors

snow angel
the wings still
a good fit

blizzard conditions
signs of life
in the bread dough

cutting roses
back to bone
my father’s iron love

the neighbor boy
saws his cello off-key–
spring breeze

treehouse . . .
I pretend
to make-believe

emptying
the bird bath
sumo sparrows

spring sunrise
the length
of a toppled pine

last light
my body echoes
with frog song