this move
from my parents’ home
my last—
I might get some money
when my mom visits

praying in a dark
dorm room, I wonder
if there’s anyone listening.
How must it feel
to be the moon?

ah, evening, evening
how quickly you close
morning glory blossoms
          each violet petal
          hushed up into itself

watching the war
from the bedside
wedding ring
rests
on the nightstand

Late—
I ran across the street
almost tripped
and fell
oh well

you are more than a friend,
you stand by me
when the world walks out.
and for that,
I owe you my life.

writing tanka
on a Sunday afternoon
at my computer—
I wonder
if I’ve got mail

in a mind
that no others
could even assume
to understand
I loose myself

a dull
and cloudy morning
what is the day
without
the sunrise

Fall Festival
carnival lights
friends from high school
I still
won't call my friends

cars stop
let the train pass
from the backseat
you quietly whisper
the names of butterflies

at the stop light
a jagged edge of clouds
pass over
my little red car
dark under a cloth top

dark side
of the moon
a war prisoner
traces
scars

three dollars
cut in allowance
she's made her bed
every morning
since

she asks again
about her father
quietly, I
rearrange
the lilacs

waves on the ocean
follow one another, they
make perfect music;
why are you still so
Distant?

I stare into
his eyes
wondering what he’s thinking,
little does he know
I hope he thinks of me.

I see this man
whom I love
a man
I see only a child
in his eyes