the light when summer’s gone
say her name
don’t
(First published in Modern Haiku 53:1.)
Tag Archives: name
jogging in winter you’ll never know the name they call you
I say the name but hidden in brown fields green peeks its head around the corner. She lets the light back slowly as ever. We are heavy with eggs. Nests being assembled. The wide water is clear and dark and deep inside something undeniable stirs.
trying to hold on to one thing in the mind with hands too small
gather broken branches to spell her name
looking up a wildflower’s name lost in the guide
the name I call you at night white blossoms
other animals 