I’m a gardener, you’re the volunteer who vines by the row of heirloom Better Boys, you hide near the hollyhocks along the splintered wood fence, dry in the sunlight. I’m a mapmaker, your cheeks are hilltops, your tears flow like trout streams, they descend contours and join the rivers’ pilgrimage to the Gulf. I’m a [...]
Autumn in West Virginia Does This To Me
I admit, I cheated a slight bit in the syllable-count of line-3, but it’s with license. FRAME picture the mountain side, red brown yellow sunlight skeletal sycamore
Her Arched Brow of Politics
My omni-influences of this morning’s haiku… Her Arched Brow of Politics red oak leaves under slate stain sky, skirts extremes like Kate McGarrigle
Seed
Seed squirrel let go acorn fore it lands on forest floor we hear spirit breathe
