August 2016

not this tree, no! 
here the abstract shadow
of winter trees
my daughter 
has them too
eyes piercing blue
in winter wind
all that's left of me
escapes me
what the pine
had to teach
traced in the wind
the trails of my daughter's
autistic bent
i.m. Jane Reichhold
filling in
between fragment and phrase
an empty space
it unfolds
from its grip of green
what it always was
between breaths
I bear the likeness still
of what the mist conceals
turning a new leaf
I rewrite my steps away
from the Basho
this moon
ah this moon
and this . . .
not yet dead
a novelist adjusts
his dustjacket
after rain
soundlessness rises
from the leaves
black sea-shore
my homage overspent
in the west
bobbing through dreams too
a refined savagery
that seem to be words
dawn drizzle
in a delicacy
of light
one haiku
is never enough . . .
winter rain
signs of spring . . .
seedlings coil tightly
down under
morning dew
sacred once more
with this word
then this
the ever-before
pleases me 
just like that
a post-war ploughshare
in the flesh
then too
forever now
out of mind
divining reality
a bayleaf falls
bleak stillness
a wave beaches
waning moon –
this failure to let go
of language
spring creepers –
once again death swept
under the carpet

only a hush this pervasive

divine silence –
cross-hair of words strained
between stars
darkness breasting 
unseasonal words –
earth becomes seized by
its climacteric
the long silence –
tell-tale signs hand-palm
my meninges
snatched from the beak
of a hummingbird
with the wind
images of old friends
birds and clouds
when I name it
what is it you see?
your absence
bleeding out
from my own shadow
my anima
last embers –
light swaying between
me and not-me
winter ends –
I am slowly weathered
into whiteness
cold war –
will and want shadowed
on the walls
an apple
drawn and quartered
in my genes
 preamble to a eulogy
to a eulogy
winter rain
a loss
of breath
when words 
of breath
i am
not i
my hymn
of praise

preamble to a eulogy

filling in
between fragment and phrase
an empty space