Sunrise lips, sunset eyes:

She laughs,
Nobody owns the sun.

I think
even the sun must die
a little, every day
when it rises

To face you
and hear you laugh
not like the world
is ending,
but that it never
existed at all.

And I think,
sometimes,
that razors
and icicles
and empty midnight beaches
have nothing on you.

Under the ancient sofa
among the kingdom of skittish dust bunnies,
I searched that strange underworld
of my living room.

I looked behind the refrigerator,
found old bits of a doughnut
and some new species of insect
and the toenail clippers.

Next to the oldest pile of boxes
in the dampest section of the basement,
found three oddly colored socks
and an ant's nest.

I searched the whole house--
I found no words.

Nothing for the sight of you,
walking away
as the clouds melted
and poured from the sky.

The world is the color of day-old coffee
and copper coins;
The same metallic edge lingers
in our mouths.

The woman masked by the browning lenses is a queen,
walking in disguise among these mortals.

They sense this
They feel the awe and wonder
mixing with secretive disdain--

the whispers which invariably shadow royalty.

Hey there, you, driving the lawnmower,
sitting atop your shiny red toy--
state of the art, the best of the best
in lawn technology.

My meager fields are no longer in disarray
since you came around;

Tell me, Mr. Lawnmower,
Do the aspiring clovers and rogue dandelions irritate you?

Is their determination to survive a mere inconvenience,
Or is that the slight trickle of fear running down your back?

What about the bird's nest perched perilously in the gutter
and the rusted horseshoes nesting in my flower bed?
The disused swing set, now eroding in my backyard?

I rather like my own personal jungle!

Still, I suppose someone has to trim the branches
that hang over the power lines.

The poison ivy sneaking its way toward the roof
needs an occasional reminder
of the terms of our uneasy truce.

Perhaps I need you after all.

"People living in glass houses
shouldn't throw stones"

Fine.
I wouldn't want to live in your glass house anyway
Go ahead, throw your stones, shatter these windows.

I want to dance among the ruins
and hear your laughs ringing through the emptiness.

I want to watch as the shards scatter into the atmosphere
and rain down on us
while the blood red sun fades.

Break down the glass walls,
Burn the bridges--

Watch me fall.

This is a haiku
Or so the poet assumes
One can't be too sure