Sunrise over Green Canyon (poem)

The dawn draws a long yawn of yarn along the canyons of my room,
a strong comet on the southern wall,
a freefall. It starts out small, horizon-like
and becomes a lawn of ocean glow
beneath a starry sky.
The sky is white paint pushed up into a corner, gray heights;
the stars are donut sprinkles scattered
in the fog of reflected light.

Foam (haikus)

In this blue sweater,
my chest is muffled, heavy
beneath the spring sky.

Eucalyptus leaves
whisper poems like wind chimes
behind a bird's song.

The white Nissan truck
and the navy blue Honda
reflect the June sun.

The spring sky clears out
the fleet of clouds; the ocean
clings onto its foam.

The birds' songs follow
a night of vacant dreaming;
I forget them both.

The June sun beckons
me outside, where I will hear
birdsong in spring skies.