[me ashore]
The wave washed me ashore, my legs heavy with sleep. The wave — the wave, not water but sleep. I don’t move, so as not to throw off the last bits of it, until I remember the pencil within reach. And fall back down.
Category: Poetry, Literature, and Writing
Sitting with my back to the snow
Sitting with my back to the snow which starts at the door to this table and this bench next to the altar that holds a dish with money from Costa Rica and India in it and from here, with a large rock holding it all down next to the candle next to the window next … Continue reading Sitting with my back to the snow
spring evening
Lighting one candle with another candle— spring evening. Yosa Buson (1716-1783)
[the night kitchen]
entering the night kitchen the scent of basil before the light goes on
white pebble 