Scratchings

— Pushpa MacFarlane

the moon hangs low, bold
in the night sky—a croissant
for my morning spread

>>>>>>>>>

light infiltrates slats,
shadows sneak, play hide and seek—
mice in the pantry

>>>>>>>>>

strange bird sounds breeze through
wind chimes between giant palms—
nesting fledglings cheep

>>>>>>>>>

a dog scoffs the wind
as it rustles past, teasing—
the cat’s off the hook

>>>>>>>>>

imagination
leaps past the clocks into night.
I’ve lost my morning

>>>>>>>>>

an array of words
sprayed like rice at a wedding.
haikus for dessert

>>>>>>>>>

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