half moon . . .
a loopworm poised
out of darkness
and back into it
light-crazed moth
inhaling clouds
and exhaling more . . .
mountain song
the day moon
if it has no voice
may not be
goose bumps—
the yearning within a violin
stretches thinner
spring blues . . .
I too begin
in bloom
rounded belly
the stone buddha smooth
with age
here too
blooms a world of change
last month's tree
lake shadows . . .
thunderclouds brood
in the heat
galaxies swamped
in equations