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The Way Trees Dance
I want to tell you something and I’m not sure what to call it. It feels like a poem but I’m fairly sure it isn’t. It’s not a song, either. At least not yet. Let’s call this an account. An account of what the backyard trees showed just now.
Make Yourself Smaller (NaPoWriMo 17)
Make yourself smaller Small enough to balance on a branchThe whole windblown wisp of your bodyBuoyant on the breezeYour needlepoint eye only holdingA thimble of lightYour little paunch packed with seedsPecked from plastic perchesHung by giants Smaller stillYour body three-seeds-longAnother on your backDropped by dragons from their poplar pillarYour size is no measure of your
Runner (NaPoWriMo 16)
Runner The most impossible stepIs step oneFollowed closely by two and threeAnd whichever steps pound earthAt the two-thirds markOr before your round the final bend In between you are sailingBreeze-cooled cheeksWet with winningPaper cups drained and crumpledThe pursuit of the woman just aheadUntil you surge and she is is beside, BehindForgotten There are instants you