For fear or awe of dawning time,
for glimpse of life in song or rhyme,
I can but trust returning bliss
and banish fears that would resist.
For in the end laughter and tears
are closer friends than they appear,
and we who judge one more or less
are lost in thought who might be blessed.
Armistice
Now that your vagina
has returned to its rightful place
as a subroutine of your self-awareness,
And my penis has gained the humility.
Imposed by the hairs growing white around it,
Perhaps we finally
know something of love.
Photo – Ruby ribbons:Growing old
Haiku #21
In fall we harvest
our deeds yield their bounty
Joy sweetens the rice.
Photo: economist.com
winter yields to spring –
change the center of the path
fear stills so many
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