baby talk

outside my window
a babble of sounds
the little girl speaks her own language
but I can hear the smile in her voice

san jose

ringed by mountains
the city is nestled in a green sugar bowl.
after their morning coffee
the gods replace the cloudy lid,
which fits snugly over the mountaintops,
or wrap the bowl in clear cellophane,
and the sun glints off the coloured roofs.

perched

masked eyes
blue mohawk
the little brown bird's trilling song
too sweet
for his punk costume

night work

half past dark
a car waits in the street
horn blares
impatient
her heels like clockwork
past my window

quarter to dawn
the courtyard gate opens
rusty hinges
protest
her heels like clockwork
past my window

On dove wings

"Guess what! Can you hear that?"
And across the distance
bouncing off countless satellites
to channel through my computer
a newborn's cry crackles in my ear.

Welcome to the family, little one.

rainy season

rain falls on the metal roof over the courtyard
and falls
and falls
and falls
thunderous drops
creating blissful silence

watery grave

kitchen tops cleaned and dried
but morning still finds another cockroach
dead in a puddle turned copper green