a poem in eight haiku
It is not down in any map; true places never are.
All down the coast, the headlands slope to the sea, windows of houses thick with wild wisteria.Wind blows pass in whispers…
Your story of love is misaligned,in each breath you exclaim your passion’s touch,each…
At dusk, when the sky is a howl of milky bruises,the dancer glides and archesto the rhythm of the sea, moving…
Fast-falling dusk
Shafts of lightstream in, meander overmusty mahogany.Dust dances,lingers in the airlike unspoken wordsover the table —…