I’m not sure what it is about full moons, but they seem to turn on a tap of poetical scribblings here. June’s full moon: it’s cold and audaciously bright as it rises behind the tropical foliage that protects my terrace. Three haiku fall from my pen…
– – –
here’s a state of Grace:
bats flying across full moon –
my webbed wings, aloft
–
what a paradox –
my greedy seeking has ceased
yet nothing was found
–
have you seen my mind?
I can’t find it anywhere
though it’s right in my face!
–
