lucky flies

sopping, I glisten
sun pooling around my fingers.
the pond is swampy,
filled with birds
and linen-white moths.

I once ran with a friend who couldn’t stand
being circled by flies.
There was nothing we could do
to stop them,
she insisted we swat
and hollered;
This isn’t even enjoyable
any more!

You can outrun them, or
if you sit
still, they’ll leave
uninterested.
They, like us, have only two eyes
though compounded.

That’s how I must look
nestled between skinny trees-
unseemly and
compounded.

redirect

some clouds are crossing my mind

if I am a window

or a perceiver

which I am

so

some clouds are crossing

me and this window.

I’m not so certain it’s going to be a storm

anymore, he tells us

as a voice through little black holes:

Its going to use the wind off the coast

and pull south, now

if I were I storm

I’d probably head back to the ocean, too.

or, I’d ride with the wind

like the cowboy

in a weather van.

running haiku avalanche!

finally blood moves

to my pinky toes and hands;

whole body heartbeat

bare ground between trees,

shorter grass and white flowers

mark the subtle trail

feet in succession

dare not break the silence of

concentrated breaths

people drive in cars

I’m on my feet wondering

how much they do see

just above my legs

my body rides in calmness

my head reflects sun

feeling like noodles

the cooked ones, warm and loopy

but better than stiff

after braving pain

and sun settled concrete heat

a clean drink will do

dried sweat and clear mind

this bag of dirty laundry

wishes to be washed

Happy Friday!