Friday, November 20, 2009


The swaying twigs moved slowly
and stirred my face.
The lake retreats into its own depths,
leaving me trapped
in my dissolved image.

Sunday, November 15, 2009

Night's anapaest...


The passing night air
stirred the potpourri
of fragrant dreams.
Songs of cricket in dark bushes,
the soft hum of rustling leaves.


The night stood still
with its dark hair disheveled,
the silence held captive
in its flagrant folds.

The moon dropped silver coins
into her begging bowl,
with barbed discretion.


Last night you wrote your sonnets in  Braille: the commas, parenthesis, ellipses engraved perfectly on my skin- and  I  ...