~ after Kobayashi Issa What sign will let us know the anxious time is over? Windows unlatch— over rooftops, the everyday sunrise. Within sun-struck leaves, a small roundness waves: first green, then sweet. Sweet note of soursop on the tongue, popsicle flash of a childhood summer. Childhood the tent through which we ran in and out until the river called. The river could always tell what you carried, what you left behind. Carry a stone, two, three; skip them across the water. Across the liquid surface, the moon's half-raft tonight. Tonight and every night, to hold the beloved's face in your hands. I put my hands together and make the sign for wings.
Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.