3 Comments


  1. Half past midnight, neighbor’s dog. This morning spotted towhee inviting all to “come drink your tea”.


  2. A GAME OF VOICES

    A game of voices, Father called it:
    “It was his voice, he needed me,”
    the weeping widow murmured.
    Was it her pained longing echoed?

    A cuckoo’s strained screech fills
    the darkened corridors of elms,
    mimicking a midnight owl’s. It is
    an old call not unlike his old voice.

    Was it his caress reaching out for her?
    On moonlit nights like this, he would
    sing to her a tremulous “Mexicali Rose”,
    “I’ll come back to you some sunny day.”

    The days have come and gone, but his
    promise remains: an echo in the night.

    —Albert B. Casuga
    07-11-11

Comments are closed.