dogtrax

Yellow petals drop; the bent stem droops – an aged man picking up papers

A palm-sized pencil, accidentally kicked by a kid, rolls its way to my foot, an invitation to writing; the graphite snaps before I scribble out this poem

a sorta Sijo poem, for DS106

Though seemingly lost, I am not; I am thinking of intersections

A flutter fly-by, the butterfly flies, onward; a long migration

It's the tug and pull; we listen to the rhythm of each passing wave

Evening sun, flickers; shadows on the patio wandering away

A wink of the eye, a word dropped in casual conversation: flirt

The wild's been waiting for this sun, the day's begun to blossom madly

for Algot

A percussionist pounding out beats on a tree; the woodpecker speaks

With its many folds, the peony grows; its small lobes, like a map, within