Panic
small talk in their booth
a dinner plate shatters and
she’s back in Iraq
–
turning winds
a yearling doe
prepares to bolt
small talk in their booth
a dinner plate shatters and
she’s back in Iraq
–
turning winds
a yearling doe
prepares to bolt
luminous, rising
from below an ebony lake
in her hand, a sword
–
sunlit hillsides
shadows rolling
slowly to the shore
traveling down this
river of asphalt toward
the vanishing point
–
maple leaves
swirling eddies in
a mountain steam
an eclipse of moths
dancing around the asters
joyful for the fall
–
october dawn
sycamore seeds
drifting in the breeze
aloft and adrift
floating ever so gently
just out of my grasp
–
innocence
tethered
by a string
ripped from a deep sleep
waking up in tattered clothes
not sure where I am
–
full moon rising
my true form
no longer hidden
an ominous day
dark clouds pass before the sun
portents of ruin
–
stippled hillsides
revealing light and
fleeting shadows
wishing you all peace
in the hope and promise of
the coming new year
–
auburn leaves
a chestnut takes root
in the dampened earth
guiding my journey
walking with the ghost of you
on my chosen path
–
dripping boulders
surging white water
streams diverging
watching you watch me
through heavily lidded eyes
as sleep becomes you
–
brindle underbrush
a chipmunk rests
beneath the leaves