Urge

It is like the ticking clock, unheard
in the corner of a room – caught
before a full rotation

the walnut scroll work lifting
as each breath grows in anticipation
sinking

as nostrils expel melancholy
into the pause, the widening gap
before the chime

A senryu affair

carriage rolls
the rhythm of lines
fluttering chest

two moons in front
and to my back a
blazing sun

a mane toss
two crescent moons
lie waiting

a cotton cloud
two moons are eclipsed
but the sun!

I know my mind
like the grooves in your brow
and yet, and yet…