February Hall of Fame Poem 2017
Karaoshi
The Gentle Hurricane
For all the sweet air that wise old mothers prattle,
I have found her absence made only my heart
blow yonder on the wind
like some wistful flurry of dirt
across the rust horizon,
seeking its prayer in an emerald pastor,
a lass, perhaps yet new to her field,
and still entwirled in the rush of it,
still tending to the daisies and cogon
with water and worry.