At home
my aimless mind
writes poemless lines.
Homeless under
trees or sky,
my lines take aim
to fly.

Friday, November 14, 2014

Secrets I Wish Were Mine

My river is not my river--
my shoal, not my shoal.
It shares with me its unhurried waters,
thoughtful sycamores,
questing vines and courageous willows,
silent under sky, meditating
on their time under the sun.
And I, I scribble these secrets
I wish were mine
always knowing they belong to water
that will give them away to sky.

No comments:

Post a Comment