lingering sleep—
blossoms endure
through all this
autumn tide—
how long is language
on the way back?
weathered nude—
the sculptor hidden
in no sound
where words end
once spent

empty words become me

between dates
the dashes that once
had meaning too
haiku stone—
a lichened epitaph
sketched from life
threadbare words—
a chill wind bites 
into autumn
my child!
red ochre stensils
such hands
dark rain—
an ache of worms
inch for me