Brother Haiku

We, cut of the same
tattered cloth, your delight fills
my soul to the top.

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The Island

My bed is an island
filled with dreaming,
a white raft to hold
soft bodies that I cherish,

my children,
my lover,
my own treasured and
broken vessel,

sleepy and satisfied
at the end of a day,
each of us afloat
for just a little while

as we travel
through our chapters,
or dissolve
like chocolate

on the tongue.
It is the place
I write alone,
or think of you,

or think of nothing,
an empty mind
on a quiet shelf,
or perhaps a busy heart

so full of questions.
At night we rock
upon our sea
of starlight,

sweet shelter,
skin to sleeping skin,
to remind one another
we are alive.

City People

In the dark tube
of the trans-bay
underground,

black windows strobe
blank nothing
to the ear punching

screech of track
on metal. It has been
half a lifetime

since I breathed
with this city, and my eyes
linger long

on all the flashing
faces. I am startled
by the humanness

within these tattered
train cars,
and by the

unequivocal
force inside
the stranger’s smile,

like a private anthem
to all that is
beautiful.