New Year,
an hour old…
the North Star
☯︎
Bus tunnel…
pigeon
waves one wing
☯︎
Sprig held,
she stands eyes up…
imploring
☯︎
Bad day,
the blue window…
out of reach
☯︎
My mother’s urine
jerks
through the tube
☯︎
Those eyes–
shine…
but don’t see
☯︎
These comic books–
coverless, ripped…
mummy shroud
☯︎
What life–
my nose hairs
turned grey!
☯︎
Thirty degrees
and a baby, kicking up
her bare feet
☯︎
tanka:
…and lonely
has a history,
has culture…
the wherewithal
of the one
☯︎
One breath
one reach, one vine at a time…
’til you slip
☯︎
Thirty degrees…
and a wasp
up the bus window
☯︎
January…
trees love nothing more
than single file
☯︎
January…
gray shorts spin
through the washer
☯︎
Thirty-eight years,
this address…I eat
one last Cheerio
☯︎
Scarecrow,
stripped by the wind…
down to his pants
☯︎
Empty city…
radios talk
on the plaza
☯︎
