While my background brain sorts out the best order for the chapters of my novel-in-progress, I am returning to haiku. What better place than the lake during a late-summer storm, to roll words around the elements.
The geese, all week, have been flying. Home. Away from this sharp promise of snow cutting through crisply darkening skies south, to the crucible of summer. Their far-carrying call slicing through the high, cold air picks up our hearts by the scruff and deposits them, safe but shaken and absurdly hungry for that next bright … Continue reading For that next bright dawn
Sitting on the sofa, staring at the perfect flames; the two cats, having argued over who gets the lap and who the haunch, now settled in their places; I'm thinking about a perfect life, which is what this looks like. Rain drums on the roof and falls in waves from that one place where the … Continue reading A poem written under the influence of Billy Collins*