tension holds
along the surface
all that should flow
yet stays hesitant
pregnant with fear
as if the drop will
not fall in time
rippling circles
across the pond
(August 25, 2016)
-
Four Haiku for a Lost Full Moon
It has rained for days,rare for a Texas August:the moon lost in clouds.I too have been lost—low clouds blur the sky with rain;no sultry red moon.To what do I rise?The lake black in warm moonlight?Another year’s gone.With patience one waits;green corn rustles through the field.The moon ripens too.(August 21, 2016) -
metronome
she moved betweennow and thenunaware of oneor which was wherefor weeks after worksun’s last lightsifted shadowsthrough her roomshe was loved enoughto watch her dieto hear her breath’sslow waltz count timewe came and went likewhispers down the hall(August 20, 2016) -
Dusk’s Quiet Rhythms
Mountains at a distance blur the horizon.He tries to explain himself like scarecrows,through dance, explain themselves to the raven.He mistrusts the shapes of this common worldpresented with such precise clarity,as if lines like these can be so thin andimpermeable to divide us allinto differentiated grains of sand.Another wave tumbles along the shore,he cannot wait for the water to clear.Along the edge of the fog, figures dancebetween the trees weaving a patterned lace.He watches the moon rise above the hills:Who’s there waiting—the widow, or the bride?(August 12, 2016) -
Now
there’s always a dooran emptiness to crossunknown spaces on mapsfilled with dire beastsa perpetual thresholdto move love throughlike a bearded iris unravelinginto a crisp spring morningwith no latch except hesitancya hand lingers on the jambas if time can framea portrait on a wallcontaining as a thoughtthe next step and fall(August 10, 2016) -
A Map Distorts
Spreading the map out flatacross the hood of the Ford,she fingers the route homelike a vein along his arm.Nearby, he watches the night sky.The distance draws closerthan the stars’ mythologiesallow in reason’s smudged light.He resists the part he plays.She recognizes the distortionas a vague interpretationof where he once belonged.She sees where they’re going;he denies there is a destiny.(August 9, 2016) -
negative space
silences fill the shapesbetween the wordsmold to contoursclosing and openingframes like windowslisten as water movesthrough the substrateto the crevice’s deepshifting structuresin my laconic speechpatterns in patternstesselate the airwith each shared breathwith each trembled kiss(August 6, 2016) -
I Wake Into Myself Yet Again
by
Memory’s fickle nature turnsall nuance into fragments.I hold the trembled bitsbetween my fingertips,as if I could discernone moment from the next;separating fine gradationslike diamond dealers sweepingstones one pile to the nextwith an easy dexterity. I shudder,like an old bull to the yoke,beneath the variables framingall the doors within doors,until the still life’s vanishingpoint collapses into oneI must be for my time left.(August 5, 2016) -
no beginning no end
each morning we wakecontent we have begunin the middle somewherelike Dante wrote onceso distant now to bebefore time to our dayto day commutes andcolleagues commentswhispered beneaththe raging lions lurkingalong the forest’s edgesentangled in the storieswe tell like roots drivingdeeper into the cliffas we begin our leapgulping after air(August 4, 2015) -
worry the past
turn the earth a littleand see in the crumblelife’s turbulent seethethe curl of wormand oak leaf mulchamong the rooted dirteasier there than herein the patterned dayto ignore the ubiquitous airto find any causeto simple seewhat’s there beforeI said what I saidand you went away(August 2, 2016)
subtext 