While everyone is
pushing and pushing
back the morning
fuzz of autumn,
in place. Children
to the bus stop
drop to the street.
A pair of hidden coots
in the sedge line
by raucous fighter jets.
Bubbles alive with memory
trail upon the lake top.
We whisper into the early morning hour out of respect for the dying night
the thing I love about futballers is that they’ll keep running at and trying to beat an opponent, they rarely give up.
It’s amazing how quickly and easily their joy becomes your joy, your joy becomes my joy.
Coolness of this morning’s carpet, a moth flutters by the front door.
There is a cutting truth, the kind of truth that stops the argument in its tracks, there is no wiggling around it
—as soon as the truth is seen it cuts through any illusion immediately.
mind over mind
reality seems ether thin
Fledglings in and out
Of baby yew. . . and i’m
The only one watching!
Here’s my entry for this weeks #Haikai Challenge: Cicada
Cicada husks on siding of my memory -back to school shopping
To check out the other entries and add one yourself…
Security guard walks by, radioing a description of the weiner dog.
i’ve forgotten the shapes of countries, i can’t recognize the globe; replacing their memory with the feel of wind in my face.
—and the ‘gulls no doubt sing atop the marbled ruin of Her return.