The Wanderer: A Solo Shisan

Still warm, 2 a.m.;
Deep night is another world,
An owl on a branch

Seven oak trees in the field
And the surrounding dry grass

From the canvas bag,
Which she always has with her,
She removes her lunch

***
In the cafeteria
Of the large office building

Janitors clean up
Under the light of the moon
In the high window

Moth wings that are dry as dust
Caught in ancient spider webs

***
The collapsing house
In a town that the young leave
The sound of the wind

Sub-freezing temperatures,
Ice here and there on the streets

“I am tired of this.
You always want to argue.
You go. I’ll stay here.”

***
A few petals slowly fall
From the blooming apple tree

Beside the old farm,
In a still rural section
Of a mid-west State

The wanderer registers
At yet another motel