Category: Muse
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Nighttime flight to London
i. you call it an expanse but I see the rivers, no whitecap flecks, just warp and weft of current slicing though floes in their jagged way and I ask how they snake up, crisscross, with tides bulging under them all ii. I can see them now the chunks of wave line that seem like…
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It is no wonder
Is it a wonder that I am more drawn to watching the birds flit than to reading your words, again? You would not blame me I think. They dive in the mist over loch and glen, feathers soaked from the constant drip. No tree a harbor, being waterlogged as well; some find cover under our…
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Buddhista 3
It is a miracle that you survive day after long day in the cold, under rain, through whining wind. Once, as snow fell, a smirk edged your lips but it slipped under by the time I looked firm. I ask, are you a ghost? Yet day after long day, you hold steady, build moment after…
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Buddhista 2
You sit on the stump of the old willow where last stood a luxurious swaying, deep shade for hot summer days. Sun falls bright upon your head, your joints ache from prayer or thought or long years of passive watch over this small yard, the squirrels that make their home in the stretches of the…
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Buddhista 1
I will buy for you a cedar box, red, fragrant when rain falls, broad and steady, and plant it near the crocuses and the daffodils that were tossed among fresh sprouts of day lilies, and in time, that will sleep under the vigils of June’s deep clematis and our red-then-green- then-red-again maple. And upon it…
Poems from in between 