Recent Mornings

early color

wild mustard sprinkles green-hued yellow

on hillsides

under a sun stunned speechless

in a wintered sky…

on the arm of the brown

leathered chair, an aqua cup,

congealed instant coffee

on the outer lip…

**

The deep pull and draw

of the center to itself—

rain drops and incense.

**

The acacia waits,

holding energies inward,

listening for spring.

**

I didn’t know Cid Corman

but his lines carry a voice still

discernable—rain falls, I hear its drops

1958, in a Kyoto garden

**

Under early lit skies,

walking shadowed streets

silently listening

to pink streaked whispers

pass by.

**

Not knowing the signal,

I watch breezes push past

each branch

and be gone—so much grace

so early in a day.