Leaf on a puddle—
boat on a sea—wind blows, and
it skips off the world.
Leaf on a puddle—
boat on a sea—wind blows, and
it skips off the world.
All night, night after
night, rain knocking—soon
it will just come in.
A gust plucks more leaves—
the trees are too stubborn
to chase lost plumage.
She turned the music
so low I heard violins
as dulcet insects.
All the souls
invisible from windows
beat like paper hearts.
My son in Dad’s
work boots with heels worn away
by half-moons.
In another room,
a novel falls on its own—
someone wanted out.
Telescopes searching
night skies to find the one star
all lost socks circle.
No square of dry earth
in endless rain—leaves painted
to every surface.
The windshield chases
looming watermarks
from fog’s gray page.