Night Blood is Dark

Two wolves

Howled at the moon

But no one

Was frightened

      Three wolves

      Pointed to the sky

      And waited

          Wine left its bottle

          When I listened to the moon

               Two wolves

               Waited

               For the third

               One

                    To bring the moon

                    Back

September 28, 2019

©Vahé A. Kazandjian, 2019

Hi Coucou

Wild grass

Burn the desert

In sand and clay

The rabbit stays

In the shade

Of the fire plume

The quail runs

Away from

Its burned feathers

Dry brush

Still on the hill

Rain on the way

September 23, 2019

©Vahé A. Kazandjian, 2019

It is monsoon season in Arizona and the skies have opened to pour all the water they can hold. Flooding happens quickly when the ground is so dry for so long.

I was reading Haikus by Matsuo Basho circa 1680s. After a few line, ”Haiku sounded like “coucou” and I thought of the roadrunner, one of the most recognizable birds of the desert, moving in short but fast runs like a Haiku.

So, decided to try a few short runs of my own upon the empty screen.

Yellow Day-lily

Time did not stay
Long enough
So in the dark of the highnoon
Moon
I left the door open

And I waited
Holding a promise
Like a flower at the graveside
Where a human shell was left alone
Waiting for the open door
To let the promise
In

And the flower I held
A daylily thirsty and dry
Became my hand
With hurting joints
Hoping to still hold
What had already
Passed

Since time did not stay
And I had no space to hide it
From its own passage
If it had stayed

I opened the door wider
To let the long shadow cover
The darkness of the highnoon
Moon

And then there was no name
No smile carved upon the stone
Crushing the graveside
Where I let
The daylily fall
As a promise

September 11, 2019
© Vahé A. Kazandjian, 2109

Anhelo Vacío

There is more than a word

For love

As those we loved

Did not know we did

Saudade

I was told,

Is for longing

Of what is long

Gone

There is more than love

When you ask those eyes

To bury you

So you will not be alive

Alone

And when the river

Takes a wrong turn

You wonder how you will say

That you once indeed felt

And that you still remember

Nostalgia, the secret binding

Called in different ways

That still makes you long

For the last scent your breath left

Upon her smile

As she walked away

Through the glass door

To be lonely

Alone

September 6, 2019

© Vahé A. Kazandjian, 2019