I tell this thing with wings I'll be more careful next time but it doesn't hear me the voice I use with my grandkids the same exact voice my mind uses when I talk to me a flower I've never seen growing in the void ..just a few more days I tell the sparrow named august the heaviest hearts bow the deepest -- sunflowers watermelon from the fridge how november tastes the fluttering of a sparrow's wings landing on a branch (the way my heart comes home to you) my poems not worth the stardust I write them with eventually loneliness stops sleeping with you too his I can't help it eyes her get out of jail free heart I throw a handful of stones into the river but only a few of them shine like dreams a sunflower as tall as I am lays his head on my shoulder for a moment as I pass when I was the man in the moon in your eyes.. aspen trees in the sun gathering yellow for the fall dog catching a catnap you are a poem never saying exactly what you mean writing with my fingertips so many words hidden in the pencil I keep in my drawer in a grocery store a poet finds a haiku on a bread label the rain making driftwood a thousand miles from the sea midnight nose on the window wating for the last crow to bring tomorrow sleeping on the shoulder of the scarecrow.. the night sways on crow's feet "A mountain walk.." haiku series reading the poems of Issa and Buson I drift three-hundred years Basho -- I too, disappear from time to time itchy nose I feel the ghost of whiskers -- Issa's cat planted in the back of my mind Buson's chrysanthemum.. pretentiousness I strip away the weeds I call flowers bottle rocket whistles at a star wearing a black dress covered in sequins these poems dandelions growing where my mind can find them hanging from the minute hand the ghost of 3am the invisible cat who sits in my window in the daytime watching the moon I walk back to move the stone I stumbled on but they all look the same.. hope.. the wish you never quite believe in another lunatic and all we can do is rake the dead leaves until the wind blows again (for Norway) a snail with horns charges me for the longest time.. I wait bravely woman he just met he tells her her poems are beautiful but he really means her eyes the dust on the photograph that looks like snow (the smile frozen on my face) finger lake stream trickle drop vapor clouds (I stir clouds with my finger) walking on air the happiest spider I have ever seen I slip under the blanket to sing the day asleep but we sit up all night talking I trace the yellowed creases I folded into a crane around this useless love letter if you try to stop a stream you make a lake and a stream all out my of thoughts order when I was burning down you were the unexpected rain water pours from the eaves the roses play like children under a sprinkler the rain returns the scents the sun had stolen late night rain I awaken to the memory of the smell of trees |