Haiku 8/2

In writing on August 2, 2020 at 5:25 am

Japanese summer

a boy hunting bugs at dusk

his net the world


In writing on July 18, 2020 at 2:26 pm

Redemption peers at you wistfully

knowing full well that it can only be

sensed through the frame of your frail human body

as a broken symmetry

a miraculous aleph steeped in grace

soundless as a slumbering child

or a hunter in deep snow.

One cannot hope to evade such pristine absence

or escape the lure of a continent empty of all

save mute memories of water and stone.

This delicate torrent

this momentary millenium

crashes like the surf on

your dumbstruck, undeserving brow.

A caravel on her maiden voyage

a cracked Russian church bell

that still rings true—

how could you not be the lens

this universe is refracted through?



In writing on July 9, 2020 at 3:41 am


Rainy season folds

the sky into neat grey squares

I dream of summer