By Adrienne Asher

The Disappearance of Poems in Rain

I I drew a brief haiku with one wet finger on a windowsill then rain washed it all away, the drops of water slowly clouding its calligraphy. Ephemeral as the scent of cedar trees, or the spice of woodsmoke drifting through a winter landscape. II We climbed up to the attic, windows dusted with dark…