dead low water —
I circumnavigate
my comfort zone
night wind . . .
all around the sound
of not being
in such light
silence develops the taste
of music
Southern Cross—
spring light infilling
a gasp, a moon
before this
I am become
the sacred
hazy moon
hinting of intimacy
shadowed sheets
puff by puff
a dandelion's space-time
night vision . . .
words like a cancer
gnaw through sleep

a butterfly aflutter the wind within

stone walls do not freefall blossoms sprung