all of these things haiku

all of these things, they
come and they go. nothing to
do but love, love, love.

Morning, Afternoon or Any Time

As many
times as
it has
been done,
never will
this body tire
of turning
toward the sun.

I am dreaming of peaches
the color of sunset. They hang
from bowed branches

ripe with summer, and though
I bite into one right here, juice
running off my chin

into the August grass,
it is not the same as standing
in the orchard with you.

halfway home, half moon,
the sky half light and oh
so many wholes.

permission unveils
silently beneath a
stadium of stars.

Between black soil and platinum
sky, the first August chill gathers
on our skin. Earth ripe

with muck and spore
beneath our summer shoes, we trip
down the creek-less

wash where not one drop
has flowed all season. But here,
there is a promise

inside this rain that dapples
our bare arms and saturates
each thirsty breath. The promise,

it is life,
and despite
the slip and chill,

it is what we choose reverently
with each
muddied

step.

in my eyes, the slant
of white moon transforms
suddenly to sphere.

unexpected,
and tonight there is room
for everything.