pulling your sword . . .
the flower trembled
as you approached

lonely grass
by the silent river
come, my dear

briefly her eyes unglue from the iPhone fireflies

stargazing . . .
my brain begins
connecting dots

nowhere
to go—the old guitar,
and rain song

fireflies
. . . the light bearers
stop so soon!

sipping green tea . . .
on the antebellum back porch
the foraging bees

a late summer tide . . .
the rising and falling
of a tenor’s voice

dried leaves
a child jingles a bell
on the pavement

summer break
a street child peddles
ice water

nagging rain
on the moon’s face . . .
a baby’s whimpers

wave lashings
with every breath
the shore yields

distant shore
the expatriate
yearns for home

holding hands
the old couple enjoys
the teens' stares

Nagaraya—
the old men pretend
to have teeth

long road ahead
dressed in white bodies
of love

caged dove—
strips of heavens
through the chicken wire

Edsa—
Gabriela raises
the barbed wire crown

pouring rain—
one umbrella
shoulder to shoulder

early morning sun—
amber shades bursting in blue
still water meets sky

evening drizzle
notes from his guitar
perfume the air

a bird song
no need to know
the color of its wings

on spiderweb dew beads where daybreak waits

the tightening of a fishing line  how silence ends

factory pig
dreams of rainbows—
organic

bald acacia
births hiveless bees
wallpaper