haikus of silence


    Today my father
    no longer looks forward to
    the rest of his life

    One day my hands will
    sprout into bone, and join the
    trees in mute prayer.

    One lonely vowel
    seals these lips to guard my tongue
    from its own rage: Home.


    7th month: Roads lined
    with candles, their flames like tongues
    of the forgotten.

    Last train out, reeking
    of burnt metal, sweat and dew
    distilled from shadow.

    Stillness too, brings heat.
    Each glance from you, ignites. Your
    ice can shatter stone.

    Of course your touch burns.
    It is when I wake and you
    fade, that hope smoulders.


    So much of our lives
    written in air and lightning:
    what if the winds come?

    Stars without orbits:
    Are words freed into ether
    good for our karma?

    No. My mother's hurt
    cannot be healed with haikus
    from the internet.


    Forget poetry:
    too many words whitewash
    what in silence, stains.

    When your arms withdraw,
    clouds darken to thunderstorm
    in my room’s small sky.

    Quiet. Outside, the
    rain is falling. Your weeping
    will drown out its song.

30 August 2001   12:54 hours
cause { } the word virus