The Bowl

an iron gate

yawns open

wild roses white on

white braided hair trail

sanguine dust

on baby feet

and stone

cicadas whisper vespers

by Diann Hays

Sunflowers

a sweating summer day
and an unshaven boy
together in a cranky pickup truck
jolt down a gravel road

overalls and ball caps
nearly hidden
behind sunflowers
wave callused hands.

cigarette smoke blows out
the window

limestone dust and pebbles
spit out in a sagging hiss
from beneath bald tires

a rattle down the road
with a big-boned dog
that barks at everything
and nothing

vanishes behind a tall corn crop

afternoon sulks on
and somewhere a hawk screams.

a small orchard sighs

peach-laden branches
dangle like broken arms.

bereft leaves on an elm tree stir

sunflowers –
great wide heads lower.

by Diann Hays

Barefoot

madness

doesn't arrive

in army boots,

wiping mud on

clean carpets,

announcing it's

moved in &

conquered -

it happens

like a whisper -

like a secret

between ghosts -

it happens imperceptibly -

sand in an hour glass

sifting from top

to bottom -

it walks barefoot

at night

laughing,

quiet-like

shhhhh

shush

hush

leave a window open

for crazy to slip out

at midnight

into damp air &

shadows -

wet foot prints

on lamp-lit sidewalks &

a dog's sharp uncertain bark -

only moonflowers

see it drift back inside

by Diann Hays

ORANGE

Orange
slices
in a blue ceramic bowl -
half moon smiles
between toast
and jam