24 hr. news cycle
First the moon hangs huge flag on the horizon.
Then is a small, milky lozenge in the eastern sky.
The rain under the street light falls orange, like dying pine needles.
The street in snow, muffled.
Private steps on the light fall, over loose footing.
One time: a field of lavender.
Another, water under the boat doubled over, black as film strip.
Daily, the light forms a crust, arising from no central place.
I learned from my teacher
How no day is connected to any other day
At night, my right hand is empty, in what’s left lays the string and can.
Merridawn Duckler’s work has appeared widely including a Hokusai inspired view of her brother in “36 Views of My Fuji” in Isotope. Her verse play was in the Manhattan Shakespeare Projects Emerging Female Voices Festival. Fellowships include Writers@Work, Yaddo, Squaw Valley, SLS in St. Petersburg, Russia and the Berta Anolic Visual Arts Fellowship in Israel. Her Zen-suffused D’var appear occasionally at www.merridawnduckler.com