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!

–

 

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