This Poet's Dream

These are the fluid lines that spill forth…

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Haiku #42

Mornings when I wake
To find your side is pillows
I cry into them


Three Two One

Muses frequent the pages
A realized eye skips forward
Into the realm of imagination
Some may misunderstand
For languages only run so deep
Intoned by thousands of tongues
Matching in rhythm
A harmony occurs
Motion of waves
Tripling with each outward curve
Sticking the leaves
Into waves of golden flanks
Finally blown free