Precious Things

Clustered leaves form a nest for the cloud
as I lie below, the tree’s outstretched arms
strengthened and still, waiting for the sky’s crown
to up and flit away, and I sit upon the tree’s feet
like a second weight, fragile as a burden,
heavy as royalty.


Rooftop Morning

I wondered what calm was, so guessed at what was calm.
I investigated- sunrise, sunset?

But such vivacity should not surprise me from a ball of fire.
This dawn is more alive than the people of this city.

It is raring for a fight, while empty souls hold zombie eyes.

This is where the war takes place.

It wants to wake them up.Read More »

The Stirring

I can tell it is coming, for it’s already here-
love like moisture in humid air, about to rain down.

Whispering through the rustling leaves, tickling my ear,
anticipation comes long before thunder sounds.
I can tell it is coming, for it’s already here.

As vividly felt as transporting scent-Read More »

The Lumberjacks’ Return

This, the point of the yellow-green crayon-
the grass of this light, not too bright clearing,
the trees circled ‘round like an audience
or perfect fence, this somehow bigger than recalled
but still small enough to cradle us,
place of our memories.

Still with the hunch in my shoulders I sense
a peripheral silence. Sure enough,Read More »

The Speed of Slow

I want to know the Speed Of Slow;
I want to know To Never Know,
to have no Known Idea.

I want to know the beat that peace makes-
Rhythm played
by feet of horses towing Amish buggies.
I want to taste the fruit of labor, ever savoring the flavor-
honest scent that never says nor once implies
that man can fly through time and never
whispers the times are flying either.


I want to get from creek to peak remembering that every moth
that I walk past is passed by in the sum of beats that leave its wings
while in my presence-
wholly as it should be and only as it could be,Read More »