Archive Page 2
My cat—housecleaning
in the patch of sunlight—same
as she always has.
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We woke to the
nearly human cry of a
rabbit being taken.
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There was a letter
“i” on the floor—from moonlight
through the south window.
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Seemingly the last
place I always look—there it
is. Waiting for me.
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Do trees leave their
bodies in the winter and go
back into the ground?
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You can tell, looking
out any window, that the
color green is tired.
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Send. What a pleasant
sound in that word. Strong and
reassuring, somehow.
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Time alone. Autumn
mildness. The blurred leaf shadows
shimmy on the wall.
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You photograph
the sun on the wall—the rest
of the room disappears.
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The press won’t rove from
the dung pile lest they lose access
to the dung source.
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Maybe god will speak
to us again through a burning
bush. Got a match?
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Late September sun
across the wall—the very first
motion picture.
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Silence is sometimes
not golden. Copper maybe?
Penny for your thoughts.
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Some parents build
trap doors inside their children
that only they know of.
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Funny word: belong.
Be long. Where can you just be
for the longest time?
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Stepping out of my
mind, slipping into something
more comfortable.
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This slow bird flew at
me—thought I was a small tree
maybe I don’t know.
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Clouds must be low
tonight—bathed in street light and
strip mall glow. No color.
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Our Manishevitz
paraffin candle out-lasted
our sleepless night.
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The big dipper at
nine and three-thirty. Also
a pale gibbous moon.
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The night’s list includes
two great horned owls and then, much
later, one barred owl.
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Long breath of night
tries to reconcile our accounts
from the day before.
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See how all the best
colors are ultimately
indescribable?
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Sun almost down when
some sandhills glide in and land
on the narrow beach.
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Metallic looking
flies cling to the grill, washing
their hands politely.
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Harley flatulence.
Adolescent over-ripeness
hangs in the air.
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Now and then the sun
finds a tunnel through the woods.
Makes us warm again.
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Mild simian twitch,
arboreal lust for the
broad linden cluster.
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At Kettle Moraine
waxwings pipe quietly a
lithe hymn to Bacchus.
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Cut up tree along
the road. It seems to have been
built with these pieces.
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Mosey Time is a blog by Mark Mitchell that features daily postings. Most are very short and at least partly in the haiku tradition. On Sundays there may be longer pieces of writing. If you like you can subscribe to receive these as daily emails or as an RSS feed.
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