Poem Category: All

Sand dunes
the surf calls, calls,
the many turtle hatchlings.

Cicadas
filling the summer sunset
with the last chorus.

Meeting old friends
our shared scandals
in and out of cocktails.

The concrete sets
adding the nickname
I had from youth.

Still smoking
sifted from the house
unburnt treasures.

Polishing an opal
its light from a thousand eyes
pressed by violent earth.

Earring studs
I find the moon glitters
on her pillow.

Tumbling
over the waterfall
the moon white river.

Drying cement
the fun to their handprints
of adding the date.

Winter jog
the heart pulse
of a stranger’s hearse.