Poem Category: All

A priest
sits
at the end of sins.

The cricket chirps–
trapped in the curtains
another breeze.

No winter as cold
as those concrete seats
grandmother’s garden.

Swarming with stars
an unblinking Mars
alone pink.

Listening
no traffic trickles
through the front-yard hedge.

Harvest moon
the tom cats frozen
with snarls.

Lift operator
whichever pretty girl
he coughs.

Zen garden
the cicada shrills too
diminished here.

in salt-pan smells
dragonflies mate
along the breeze.

mountains of clouds
finding in the sunset
some homeward geese.