rain sliding
down leaves—
cat-stretched windowsill
another flat
the cold bike pump
ice-moon
reaching
past my sneezes
to pet the cat
the hiss
of brewing espresso—
a cat streaks by
the moment
of sunset on red leaves
alone
the new trainee
fumbles my blood draw—
white starflowers
a cat peeks
from the homeless man’s
wool coat
auburn hair
a cold face turning—
the setting sun
paper air plane
stow-away—
ladybug
beaks
peel back the night
with song
Flat-bottomed clouds
burn in the noonday sun.
I inhale
cloud vapor. Carry them
till I make rain.
Las nubes de fondo plano
queman en el sol de mediodía.
Inhalo vapores
de nube, los llevan hasta hacen
la lluvia.
His unused cup bobs
in the wake of his leaving—
The train
whistles a lament
ruffling unturned pages.
Su copa no usada
corta tras su partida—
El tren
silba un lamento que eriza
páginas por mover.
Harvest moon:
overripe, swollen and low,
a babe dropped
in the womb. No wonder
ancients saw portents.
Coseche luna:
pasado, e hinchado.
Un bebé dejó caer
en la matriz. No es de extrañar
antiguo vio los presagios.
Caught
fondling our camping gear
in winter,
I darn his backpack
just to sniff stale camp smoke.
Planning
our fifth hiking season.
I dream of that
long-ago moonlit kiss
under a staircase of stars.
Tangled
in his sleeping bag—
the roar
of my mate calling for coffee
and help with the zipper.
The scent
of wood smoke and coffee
arrives
before his cupped hands
filled with wild berries.
Lao Tsu,
I’d like to know—
who that was
who chased you to the city’s gate
to bid you write The Way?
