the shadow of a butterfly
against withering grasses;
a clash of sunlight
of trembling dew

when summer passes
it will shimmer yet
without my viewing

contemplating another day

Curled up next to an unfurled futon
inches from the floor
headphones pouring into the silence
piled into the shadowy recesses

a collection of unpublished
mostly unedited poetry. Today
Tuesday, or Thursday, or Saturday
or the middle of a static Autumn, or quiet Spring
or the shiver of laughter.

  Eyes will open to this secret room.
Eyes and toes and restless movements and
inches from the floor; curled
in the thoughts of someone else

yearning
to dissolve into an empty room
with polished wooden floors,
even edges where seated
the light trespassing curiously
through a window; itself
fracturing amongst steam rising
from a cup of hot tea
from the remaining grains in the rice bowl
I have

breaking the stillness
in once was
before the crows
an empty room
in silence.

butterfly pairs

are your lives but a memory

fluttering by?

young love

fleeting, though the scar tissue... 

apple tree

silent world 

tracing the sky with her fingers

before dawn

through distant haze
smudge of a crow;
just sitting

early morning
when the world is fragile
enough for dew



~~



burning horizon
through an outstretched palm--
four times