The haiku I would write for you
were illustrated with my sketches, watercolors or
Japanese prints I found in magazines or
postcards from that used bookstore that we
would browse, buy poetry, and read aloud.
I thought of you as my muse.
Eastern and yet so Western. Younger but
also older than me in some ways.
The poem you left on the bed
with an erotic print which I misinterpreted.
Your side of the bed
was still warm, then cold all morning,
afternoon, night, like the Moon
Looking at the old photo of you
taking a photo of me hasn’t faded
though we separated five hundred Moons ago.
Thinking of you with each daylily bloom.
Flowering, falling, returning anew and yet old.
At dawn, the Earth’s shadow is blue-grey
and above it is a pink band –
the Belt of Venus wrapping our world.
Shadow ascending in the east, as west
sun sets, her belt and robe dropping.
(The shadow of the Earth is curved like the Earth and extends hundreds of thousands of miles into space. When it “touches” the moon, there is a lunar eclipse. A partial lunar eclipse will occur in the Eastern Hemisphere on the night of August 7-8, 2017.)
that clings to the branch tightly closed,
layered in fine colors for the Spring –
unashamed she will show Her yellow petticoats
to me and dances with the wind.
Perfume upon me from an immodest touch.
Claws of lighting ionize the night air
separating positive ions and stripping electrons free.
It’s plasma and I feel the charge,
as I did when you first stripped
off your sweater. Tiny static lightning. Fingertips.