Birb

Apr. 23rd, 2020 02:35 pm
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I held a dying bird today.
He started at me dazedly,
wondering why he yet stayed within his tiny feathers,
behind his narrow beak.
He wondered who was I that dared to handle him.
But,
most of all,
he wondered at the window.

Rain

Dec. 19th, 2012 06:54 pm
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Late last night I dreamt
that the rain would come and wash
all my tears away.
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I found a pencil
buried in the couch.
Where have my words gone?

Sunsets

May. 1st, 2008 04:24 pm
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My mother's father
has forgotten who we are.
Sunsets viewed through dust.
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Some time ago (just over four and a half years ago, actually), I posted a series of thirteen lessons my one of my cats had taught me.

Last month, I acquired a camera capable of doing justice to the cat in question.

Behind the cut, there is a photo of the kitten as well as links to the lessons learned.

Read more... )
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This season's windstorm
howling in the hollow tree
echoes in my heart
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The first line would be too long.
"It's roomy and American," he'd tell you.
And then he'd discuss a car.

Mockingbird

Mar. 7th, 2007 05:54 pm
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The Mockingbird laughed
as we fell past her into
the Raven's domain.
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When the water came
it put out all the fire.
But Jazz lives in coals.
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I saw that the priest
was given a few moments
before returning.
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(In Imitation of Kay Ryan's "A Hundred Bolts of Satin")

All you
have to snag
is one
loop
and the life
unravels
all the way back.
It seems
to have been
a sweater.
There seems
to have been
a pattern.
The yarn
that you
end up with
cannot reveal
it: a skein of
maroon wool,
for example,
several yards
of blue,
a single strand
of golden yellow –
perhaps you
were less
bright than
you imagined.

Aurora

Nov. 11th, 2005 07:51 am
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Brazenly her wares
are displayed on the corner
Nameless red flower
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Though the song is gone,
My heart contains its echo.
Petrified forest.
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Soft wind in the trees
rattles leaves above just so.
We ignore our meal.
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The reflected moon
gleams off of bunches of grapes.
Our midnight picnic.
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This morning's sunrise
brought us color but no warmth.
Blue paint on canvas.
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Sharp-edged glass fragments:
There are things one should not touch ...
Like broken friendships.
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I often dream of
the moon dancing on the lake,
luring me deeper.
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No matter how much
change the wind brings from the sea,
mountains ignore it.
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A whooshing sound,
and the world falls away
from my tired feet.

From here, I can reach the clouds!
... if I can just let go
of Daddy's sweaty forehead.

The air is somehow sweeter
when you're not busy dodging feet.

How often I see others,
riding on their lesser steeds -
Of all the shoulders in the world,
my Daddy's are the best.

(And my Daddy never drops me)
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