One Crossing

Our house,
from across the creek,
looks like a fantasy,

one window lit
beneath a streak
of yellow sunset. I want

to live there,
inside my own life,
unnamable longing,

so quiet,
your hand in mine,
the leaves

now gold, a tunnel
home, the shape
of evening.


Nimbostratus Haiku

Black rainclouds roll up
the valley – way too bold for
a surprise attack.

We run for shelter,
and in our conversation,
we seek more shelter.

The rainbow draws close
as sunset pulls the last light
over pink fences.