Fragment (3): Karina

(for Karina Klesko, my haiku teacher)

To etch the soft pout is enough--believe me!-- to see a temperamental cross of hers appear

To cross over (as I once did) was to coo like the very warm verses that just once, dear haijin, just once, lay in me, too

A marine, poet or SEAL-- or a poet crossed in love, above all!-- can always sing in her ear

She's a cross between an angel (of the red holly and spider) and faithful sketchbook

Who's ever had to bear a cross, like hers, of cremated dogs or deep smudgy stars? A view with her son of smashed windrows and windbreaks after another Gulf storm: again, whose cross was ever like hers?