eleven strangers: in haiku

eleven strangers
meet in winter’s bluster and
peel away their masks

she stitches stories
from silence and fleeting lives
this is her halo

he meets the world in
the curve of an integral
day breaks above sea

kindness is a word
he whispers through the marble
cutting the granite

double-spaced essays
dance in the base of his throat
breathed into new life

home is an anchor
where a mother strokes her hair
and makes the world flee

a little girl’s dream
paints too small a fantasy
for her new canvas

earth, wind, air and fire
she builds her castle in the
California sands

life is a labyrinth
but wings lift her above walls
a view from the skies

he walks in bare-faced
challenging the masquerade
the stage vanishes

learning stirs their souls
her classroom is a voyage
into the unknown

Wildfire and Whiskey

You waltz through the world,
like wildfire and whiskey with
maskless soul unfurled.

You know I don’t curse,
and that my only scandal
is dancing with words.

You say I’ve got wings,
but now we’re in free-fall and
I’m not good at dreams.

 

(I’m alive, and I really will try to write more regularly).