September 2013

sunset —
the horizon
rusts away

hill country —
the forest above
and below

mine is not
to reason why . . .
not mine

rainbow . . .
my eyes seek out
the keystone

summer death . . .
see how the rice
now moves

piece by piece
a rifleman feathers
its nest

rank paddock . . .
a token scarecrow
for old times

empty sky . . .
a morepork pierces
my darkness

river source . . .
sparrows peck away
the way back

giggling child . . .
the butterfly effect
stays beyond her

this winter . . .
another fine line
I tread

after dusk —
chalk absorbs the last
of the blood

endless night . . .
a harp wails for the woman
no longer there

second coming . . .
creation groans along
its birth canal

Mishima . . .
a tanto stands
on honour

under the basho
dreamers, too, are writing —
blossoms and the moon

the lost day . . .
I pore through the pages
of snopes.com

baton charge . . .
the red squad of dawn
opens heads

a frog grown old
is pastured high and dry
in its past

somewhere between
seeing and not-seeing
the loss of words

spreadeagled
against the southern cross
my arms strain for yours
while I chant through the hours
my liturgy of silence

step by step
our paths merge together
as water and wine . . .
in these unplanned moments
we sip eternity

before dawn . . .
a lone bird enters
my insomnia

ancient frog,
for whom is your time
running out?

matins . . .
weary hands become
tulip blooms

flickering darkness. . .
the aftertaste of lightning
rumbles through my words

dying day . . .
prayer beads ignite
to her touch

rising sun —
ashen shadows sear
into concrete

dusk birdsong . . .
from branch to branch
in lament

light flight . . .
Icarus blazes
a white path