ant5

 

supper finished;

on the cutting board

grains of rice

 

spring moon

on the crosscut saw

one broken handle

 

gazing on

her sleeping back

sounds of rain

 

the church bell

ringing one o’clock

bowed kite string

 

forked lightning

out over the ocean

her warm fingers

 

hearing the house

creak

the wet rock garden

 

no snow here-

only these letters

from the attic

 

pear slice falling

to the kitchen floor

pale moonlight

 

evening breeze;

a white moth floating

in the dishwater

 

 

san francisco 1999