And the light and wind and leaves now

before eventual

winter.

And the light and wind and leaves

now from a convalescing window

channel the stranger’s

sense of unreality,

which is a conflicted

nature of mine

withdrawing

the reflection of a draft

of another self,

a past letter torn out 

and mailed.

*

At that place,

when becoming untangled of silence,

I had tried to grasp

at years of our confounded feeling

in the sparse syllables

of an image sent

away.

After a timeless parenthesis,

before leaving there,

I called from a phone

on a table against a wall,

and you were at a pool somewhere

and said you had received my haiku

and hung up. 

Dogwood Pond

Paused at this overview,

the will is akin to wind

through a doorway:

an imageless succession

of empty frames. 

After, trees that line 

the descent are creaking

old doors closing

behind rooms

of static landscape. 

The pond, then,

at the foot

of the hillock

is mirrorlike,

a source to searching

through unrealized absence—

off one dirt path

to shore

bog water,

reeds. 

Hovering there, distortedly, 

reflects a Narcissus inverted— 

unnamable, 

irreducible.  

​