coming up from the basement to a house still standing

 

 

flow of clouds beyond the bough of a newly dead tree

 

in the warmth of the sun i offer the sun my warmth

 

the way forward

        lonely day

drone of a small plane

 

the sidewalk is empty and i am alive

 

as she teaches the children to sew we turn our backs to the wind

 

has a bottle of wine

that is never to be opened

green leaves brewing for tea

 

gathering up the newspapers delivered to her empty house, yellow

 

so close

to the crocus

i have seen my veins

 

distant sound of a steel stake

               in failing light

        driven into our earth—

 

the voice inside stops to hear ohio in the wind

 having shaved my beard

               later

                       i bring a rose

 

inside

the inside silence—

a sudden cardinal sings

 

pine leaves needled with frost

inner 

warmth

 

kneels first

then enters

the rose

 

A new poem (haikoan) just published in SurVision, Issue #14!

 

sunlight

            is the milk

to my green

            tea

 

here's a big white dog

            rolling in the grass—

groundhog day

 

        dreamless

after a night of rain

        morning egg