God, it is so dark.
My throat closes like the night,
kaleidoscopic.
God, it is so dark.
My throat closes like the night,
kaleidoscopic.
At five, the sky rusts.
My stride matches my husband’s,
a shared metronome.
The sky is no clock.
My body wants to obey
its demand for sleep.
Time for another round-up of my recent Haiku! (Here is an explanation of why I’ve been writing and posting haiku.)
A startle of wet
briskly awakens my skin.
I am thinking flesh.
The willow droops black
against a lavender sky,
a still precipice.
Dripping, drooping, weak.
The skin and the rain: both grey.
An unrestful sleep.
In early dimness,
a quiet, unmoving sky
chills, waiting for dusk.
Waiting in the cold,
trying not to let my mind
rush when all is calm.
Returning, the cold
breaks against the bedroom glass.
Wild-eyed, the cats watch.
Afternoon, evening,
merge as the sky stops dancing,
parting from the clock.
The sky is no clock.
My body wants to obey
its demand for sleep.
Afternoon, evening,
merge as the sky stops dancing,
parting from the clock.
Meep is a character I drew for a role-playing game I was sketching out called Cats and Dogs Living Together.
Strangers rarely glimpse Meep, a shy, four-pound, six-month-old kitten with a fluffy mass of white fur, enormous blue eyes, and a perpetually perplexed expression. Though quick to startle and flee from anything new or surprising, once Meep has a chance to get comfortable, he’s boisterous and bold. When he’s not sure what to do, he compensates for youthful naivete by copying older animals.
Returning, the cold
breaks against the bedroom glass.
Wild-eyed, the cats watch.