First week of August—
 
the wait time’s growing longer
 
for morning glories.

Waiting

 
 
 

waiting for some friends
 
near the morning glory vines—
 
my tea grows stone cold

Waiting

 
 
 

summer’s waning days—
 
still waiting for a rainstorm
 
to un-parch the earth

Plaque

 
 
 

Little brown sparrow,
 
the marble plaque is empty,
 
waiting for your name.

Mail

 
 
 

winter afternoon—
 
waiting for the mail to drop
 
through the front door slot

Stones

 
 
 

seven sacred stones
 
waiting for me to find them
 
in the mountain stream