haiku the day's just begun and a dead branch crashes from the cottonwood tree morning meditation breath rising falling with the siren's wail after the pigeons fought a single white feather floating to earth tractor in the rain still plowing From Thoreau’s Journal a robin advertised daybreak as I lay looking into the full moonlight he began his strain and I yielded the point to him believing him closer to the signs of day than I - May 4, 1855 The Priestess of Everything What if I could dress in the wisest flowing white, A lunar crown bestowing glory to my head, Repose in a tapestried temple with the codes of ages in my lap? All the intimidation of deep knowledge - Cowing the seekers into silence, Their questions trapped forever within them. And from their bewilderment, a silence arises. It fills the temple where I rule nothing on my golden throne, Breathing in that dumb, despairing essence Tasting like sugar on my tongue’s tip. Their confusion, I who confess nothing must confess, is delicious. And I lock away my eternal knowledge of all For yet another day.