Oslo Opera House

winter’s
snowy slopes rise
in the height of summer,
singing back to operatic
seagulls

Ephemeral

Orchid
blossoms reaching
into a surge of sky,
blooming, bursting, reblooming and
fading.

Eclipse

a dark
crescent creeping
reversing our vision
until at last we turn to seek
the light

Arati

softly
manifesting
she glows into the world
and the light within each of us
dances

Two Cinquains That Are Not at All Well

A Sick-Whine Cinquain

the world
a muffled fuzz
of what I think was once
something like my life underneath
this cold


Adelaide

Crapsey
was a poet
who wrote mostly cinquains
and that’s all we’ve got because then
she died

The Moth

flutter-
ing in the dark-
ness, trembling, only know-
ing that to find the light is worth
mere death

Ballet Dancer, Age 10

her eyes
reflect older
memories than her years
more confident grace than her limbs
yet know

her soul
poised expectant
waits to balance spirit
and form again as it has done
before