Update || 206/365 - 210/365

Much has happened in the last six days which cast aside all plans of writing and developing new poems. To the point, my partner Ricky and I welcomed a baby boy into our lives last Friday—a hungry little fish who demands much attention.

Already a change in direction for my writing emerges; when Brendan existed merely as a possibility or a plausible thought, the interference was minimal. Now, with his physical form heavy in our lives, his image walks into many of my projects in the guise of a teenager, or as a young child, wearing the mask of a red-tail fox, laughing and crowing loudly.

Consequently, although the last week feels like a month of events, publication of the daily haiku was placed on hold. However, the poems themselves were composed, often late at night, sometimes after feeding, as a means to bring a renewed sense of structure into my writing.
•
12.03.10
at a loss for words—
the crescent moon in daylight
rises at your birth.

12.04.10
only one day old—
and the seasons tilt around
your sleeping new form.

12.05.10
Took a moment to drive out by myself into the cold Dallas morning for a strong cup of coffee and a take-away breakfast for both Ricky and me—while pulling away from the hospital driveway, I saw in the street's meridian a blackbird standing and tilting his head sideways with an over-sized nut in his beak. A good omen of plenty and ripe harvests. Possession, ownership, protection.
•
your grandfather crow
sits with a nut in his beak
contemplating life.

12.06.10
Three days old, Brendan fills out his form rapidly—he develops rituals and personal routines within the family's circles and inner circles of circles—even now across the room he sleeps a blue bundle of life, a fallen star-child in our laps. Dad and Mom both bridge themselves over his little form, another generation of protection—
•
you are my koi-child
a whiskered carp rising up
to the bright surface.

12.07.10
your bundled form hides
beneath a printed pattern
of blue and red stars.