On our final day together,
my lover brings a blossom,
a solitary bloom,
says flowers are lost
by the dozen,
that the beauty
at the top of a single stem
explodes upon an iris,
that an orb should not absorb
a flood of fleeting,
fragile colour.
I take my darling’s gift
and soak her mahogany hair
with my eyes,
grateful that I’ll remember,
be fond of the fronds
we’ve felt, the pond
by which we sat
upon a wooden bench
for two,
pitching pebbles
for a wish,
knowing pennies
purchase more
but might be toxic
to the fish.
Tanka
Trudging in the woods,
we see garbage in the stream.
An owl hooting why?
Our imagination runs,
hands soaked from its removing.
Sijo
A bald eagle, perched in the pine,
staring down at us below.
We are unwelcome visitors,
disturbing the bush and brush.
Bald? No, White, like the mountain tops,
a Crown of kingly feathers.
Haiku
Parisian jazz
pervades the room
Moth flutters at window
