beach house -
unlocking the gate
to the ocean

                                                      pelicans skim the waves
                                                      in groups of 5-7-5

in and out
of the haiku lesson -
the fragrance of the lilies


sweltering heat
the ice popping
in the Kool-Aid

                                           raking the Zen garden
                                           at the beach house

vineyard verandah -
we sit listening
to the grapes grow

                                           virgin winter
                                           she wears white
                                           to bed

she draws violets
with purple pencils
in between her toes

                                            on redwood trunks -
                                            my son's new beard


of the red poppy
rip in the wind

                                                      surgery center
                                                      leaving parts of me behind

open window
the moon's reflection
in the toilet bowl

                                                      tucked deep
                                                      in lingerie
                                                      a lavender sachet

sipping rose wine
in the bubble bath
a misty moon


in the corners
of his eyes

                                              oak barrel
                                              sweet peas spilling
                                              into the bar

jazz music
moth shadows dance
on the living room wall

                                               jogging at dusk
                                               around the neighborhood
                                               the smell of garlic

Cider Scent

The neighbors' Christmas lights dance around their bushes, front porches, and entryways. The full moon shines through the trees. Everyone is indoors. The street lies empty.

I park the car. Enter the house. Throw off my shoes. Look inside the refrigerator and stare. Pop a frozen dinner in the microwave. Go to my room. Open the window.

across the street
the bougainvillea flashes
on and off

The microwave buzzer goes off. Sort through the mail while eating dinner. Bills, store catalogs, a Christmas card addressed in gold letters. Rip it open.

season's greetings
from the mortgage company

Turn on the TV. Flip channels. Nothing but news, Christmas shows and commercials. Check the answering machine. Two messages, one from the cleaners, the other from the dentist's office.

bubble bath
spiking the water
with apple cider scent

Wrap myself in flannel pajamas. Take the catalogs and some chamomile tea to bed. The cat emerges from the closet and joins me on the bed.

train whistle
growing louder
into the night


filled with manure
my mind is made up

                                           a spider web
                                           in the knitting


hot summer day
a bowl of picked berries
without sugar