Poem Category: Miscellaneous

Morning jog
turning up a collar
to the touch of frost.

In owl hoots
traces of fruit bats
across clouds on the moon.

French windows
the rose-petal breeze
following Laurel inside.

In the kiln
firing the thoughts
I shaped for the vase.

By degrees
the glint from the window panes
bedazzled with dawn.

After the downhill run
so much rests on the engine
finding its steam pounding throb.

Games of solitaire
through her open window
Saturday night.

Snow at dusk
the shape of the dog’s blanket
he drags inside.

Sea waves
until one rises
merely the shapes of singing whales.

Sunset spreads
husband’s last coat of paint
to our front fence.