Absent

She is not deranged,

simply absent from her mind—

the journey is long.

Shaking Free

She takes up her flute

and, piping a few thin notes,

shakes free one small star.

she and he

both set in their ways

the lines drawn

waltzing up the stairs

unicorns with silver breath

singing me to sleep

her footprint

under the plum tree—

fallen fruit

paper boat

drifting aimlessly

downriver

Sometimes in waking

I dream of all your graces—

sleep blurs the vision.

Why am I rooted,

yet still rootless in this place,

my wandering heart?

hummingbird whirring

in the garden of my heart

flower to flower

The weaving women

give birth to meters of cloth—

swift their shuttles fly!