Two Poems









Cain Scours The Moon


See? How pitted the face of the Moon!

That’s Cain’s fault and expiation. 

Exiled for murder he roams

with his bundle of thorns scratching

and scarring the Moon’s pink

unforgiving stone


When I die, unredeemed

send me to join him

with my minuscule, sharp

bundle of thorns to scratch

our names on the face

of the Moon




Listening to Bamboo Grow


You are the cat perched 

on my cradle

Patient cat


waiting waiting


the beat of my breath


I can only sleep

when I can hear

the bamboo sprouting


Soon I will be safe

one hundred pointed shoots

to pierce your wanton paws


Each sword raised

to defend the sound

of the wind leaving


my lungs

More Poetry

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