floating and leaving no trace
i looked back
at a year’s worth of words
and found
my words had all
been used up
i didn’t know i had
a quota
but there they were
every last one
written out
trying to call up more
felt like coughing up dust
like trying to cast a shadow
in a darkened room
or playing tag with ghosts
luckily
the wind punched
a heart-shaped hole
in the clouds
and i was momentarily
saved
don’t spend your money
this sunset muted by clouds
–worth little, worth all
sacked out
at my feet
the dog looks tired
tongue hanging out
where he is missing teeth
on the walk
he seemed lively
and we took a route
we rarely take
so we could hear the frogs
in the creek
whenever the cars weren’t
whooshing past us
and we had
a moment of stillness
he snores
i smell the scent
of wood smoke from chimneys
see the blanket of low clouds
not quite fog
listening again
to the throaty calls
of frogs
she wrapped the scarf
around his neck
and then around her own
the red scarf
was long enough
and the weather
cool enough
to warrant such a thing
no need to bundle up
under the full weight
no need to bear it
all on her own
so much better to
share the warmth
to create a short
woolen bridge
between them
as they sat and watched
the sun go down
The Friday Haiku
—–
coffee on her breath
sun rising real in her eyes
two morning kisses
so silent
i can hear the buzzing
in my ears
a thousand bees
or just the rushing of blood
or a damaged nerve
i hear what there is to hear
in this silence
outside
a bird flies to the feeder
disappointed
by the low seed
he had nothing
in his hands to offer
yet she took them anyway
–but my hands are empty
she filled his cupped palms
with cool water
in the dark
they watched
the moon undulate
in his palms
–you have enough
i dream of cracking teeth
wake with an aching jaw
sure that my mouth is full
of broken bits of bone
awash in frothy blood
this news is old
and my eyes cloud
milky and cold
the silence loud
in crystalline air
frogs croak their croaky love songs
–hope to get lucky
in millennia
someone will sift
through my ashes
and find that some part
finally turned into
a diamond
it will glitter
in their gloved hand
under dust clinging
to rough facets
looking in
will they see
me or just their
reflection in me
Words and Feathers 