nineteen hundred years
nomadic families roamed
fording cold rivers

prairie winds blew through
horizontal connections —
scattering women

their once-soft brushstrokes
revealed more than light and air
in dappled waters

harsh love-rimed seasons
uprooted garden verses
buried tiny things

metaphysical
concerto for bell and child
heightened by sweetness

pardon my gaff tongue
every moment’s a verb
uncovering myths

original flames
inside interior rooms
ash remnants remain

oddly beautiful
how the house fills up with cracks
maps across the walls

an old mother roars —
cemeteries, cell towers,
lace-trimmed trilogies

hard desire wanes
a needle in a haystack
rusting while waiting

still heavenly nights
bluer blues and greener greens
covered with laughter

. . . . .

poet: susan.powers.bourne
source: women.poets.nd
process: found cento haiku