Poetry

Storm

White dragons dance on
the swirling purple clouds; their
singing shakes the ground.

Sudden fire burns the
southern sky; my ear strains to
hear its hidden roar.

Between the clouded
mountains and the gray veil of
rain, blue dawn dares peer.

High fog condenses;
morning showers reign; sunrise
sweeps the blue sky clean.

Bereaved of summer,
the heaving clouds grieve the
coming equinox.

Can you taste it in
the wind -- the distant hint of
freshly fallen rain?

Flames of molten gold
wreathed in pink mist devour the
delicate blue stone.

The city stands, a
shadow of itself, wrapped in
its musty old throw.

Salmon sunrise fades;
Cascade peaks ablaze in a
tarnished golden haze.

Rainier falls on Saint
Helen's slopes; flash of lightning,
Thunder slaps the sky.

*from haiku night at Saké Nomi.

Blue pants drip and slide,
dying the inside of my
thighs Napali hues.

I long to be an
amphibian, to find life
sublime when soaking.

Feet form functional
Flippers to slip upstream for
First Hill's sheltered shoal.