Sijo Fun

Sijo #1

The pianist with just one hand,
who finds keys that glow only white,
will never play the shadow
of losing his lemon-necked love,
his singer with two blue earrings
but less than half of one heart.


Sijo #2
Why does the scent of lemon follow lightning? Ask my brother
if the light explodes like a revolver—Kapow!—like a comic.
Ask him; he’ll tell you the bolt still glows—a light under the door.


Sijo #3
It’s hard to be a pilgrim, float alone in a blue kayak,
Paddle like a demon at night, drift through another day.
This cathedral: tipping over, I gasp for the memory of light.


Sijo #4
It's colder than yesterday,
dawn's blue still holds dark.
All the folding buffalo grass points
one swift direction; we wander through
snow without our faith, we travel.
We are pilgrims--tired, lightless, complete.


Sijo #5
See that phosphorescent fruit diving from the highest branch,
this dark covering us like a blanket before the killing frost,
like a heavy shroud? So much out there that we can't let in.

Sijo #5a
The white of hospital sheets,
the black of fine print tickering
on television, smoke thick
as the velvet on her prom dress, rich
red blazing: It chokes from here
in this bed, this lemon-scented room.