Rabbit
There’s a rabbit in the backyard. I see it from a window in my loft. The housemates don’t see it— they are sleeping late. Frost covers the windshield of my car. The year is passing. Saturday it hit eighty degrees. Warm air gushes through a vent. Last night I sang seven songs. Patrons in the bar wanted more, but I went home to read. The song, a ballad, lives in my head. The bartender
said she loved me after I set the microphone down, as if I sang it for her. I’ve known her for years, O how the seasons have passed.
in solitude
The street where I live ends at a ravine and at a grove of trees. In the seclusions I seek, words and melodies play in my head. The housecat sits at my side when I sit down and listen to my muse. I give form to the lines channeled through me. The lines long to be shared.
of the quiet morning
One night I showed the bartender a poem. She said it spoke to her soul. There was music and beauty all around late at night and the soft glow of lights. Outside, a distant star. The next day, a rabbit came out of the woods and stood in the yard. I had seen it before.
a lingering voice
*braided haibun form
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