Tag: micropoem

empty air

How does my breath
get taken by yours?
When I speak,
you seem to draw out the marrow
from my words.
If my words come from fear,
you take in the shadows.
If they come from longing,
then I am left holding only
the remains of desire.
Is this
how we share?
Breath at the core,
yet I am
grasping at empty air.

tea

a gray morning
a cup of hot tea
I set my thoughts aside
and watch for sunlight
I taste the sweet tea
lingering on my lips
I wish I could hold time
just slow it down enough
so daylight moves slowly
never quite arriving
and my tea
never gets cold

a tree

When I am in the woods, I stay quiet

I want to be like a tree

A tree only moves when something moves it

It does not try to imitate anything else

It is always true to itself

 

murky waters

an old photograph shows
my father
I was just a child
looking up in wonder
The pond shimmered
cool and
refreshing relief from the heavy summer
heat
We used to leap from
the muddy bank
into the murky water below
offered us secrets only children could sense
we were still so young
looking up the way only children can
do
while the adults pretended
in the way only adults
do

I pressed a leaf
between book pages
in a chapter I
haven’t read yet.
a dark purple leaf
with crimson veins
from a season that has passed
from a season kept
in a timeless moment,
a child laughing at
the rain.
a child who isn’t jaded yet
always curious
and free
always safe
in the unknown
at home with all the questions
questions wrapped up in life
life held as a question