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Cinquain
Both Poorer
Buried,
a lost treasure—
its map burned by anger.
Can we find the X leading to
our hearts?
Vigil
Picnic
in the graveyard
among the marigolds
we eat molé by candlelight
and wait.
Sunday Night on I-5
She sticks
to the right side,
changing lanes around trucks
seventy mile-per-hour dreams,
south bound.
Climbing Moon Mountain
snow path
through mountain mists
on the long pilgrimage
the peaks of clouds in a haiku
journal
(after Basho's Narrow Road to the Interior) |
