Laughing Dove Poetry

Rain drips from porch ’til monotony gives way to a fresh idea.

Late afternoon: sun dips below buildings, fog glows, crows settle in trees.

Up early. Dark, calm. One star outshines city’s glow. One crow rattles on.

Beneath tents staked to the graveyard wall, greengrocers trim, slice, weigh our souls.

i. Domes and chimneys of medreses line up one way. Tombstones, another. x ii. Pale stone; leaden roofs. Sunlight slants through ironwork, settles on thick walls. x iii. Photographer aims camera straight up side of pillar. What have I missed? x iv. Tourist leaves, walking backward through green gate. Birds sing in winter-bare tree.

Market day: canvas tarps, tangerines, winter greens. Palate? Palette? Yes!

Red sun, rise. Once more, fog drifts between frosty hills, and ships’ horns rumble.

Late Christmas box brings new holiday with paper chains and chocolate.

Wind shifts, temperature drops; spontaneous fog muffles crow’s wild racket.

Four year olds from the nursery school blow past the house like pink and blue leaves.