“Avert!” whisper the lavender ripples,
“Leave me be. There is a muteness
in my mouth, my mind; a tightness
in my many limbs. I have no interest
in you, nor you in me. Let me be.”
But eventually something loosens.
Is it a coming of age? A kind
of wisdom? Or is it nothing more
than that loose-limbed fatigue
which recognizes death, while not yet
here, is approaching, and somehow
there is a hunger that is part of it.
Posted in Temple of Flowers
The edges of color have leaked out
Except near the still vibrant heart
Full of little flames, creeping inward.
The once supple skin is now dry
But remembers the tight texture
From when it was silken, the touch
Of intimate ants in exploration.
Oh, that outside arch awaits
The coming rain, when moist once more,
It will cascade pink petals one last time.
Posted in Temple of Flowers
Mariachi pours
into sun & sizzling gold
onions & egg yolks.
Posted in Haiku/Tanka/Rengu
Rosefire Rising 