Mirror
Cinquain
First Rain
of Fall
outside—
the rain, how it
tumbles down; inside, I
wait for coffee grounds to settle...
the warmth
of the
cup in my hands while I struggle
to decide what to wear,
if I should stay
home.
Cinquain
To the Moon
Outside my Window
cold night
poems unfurl
like petals for the moon. . .
too soon dawn arrives, and with it
this ode.
