half moon . . .
a loopworm poised
mid-stride
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
overhead
galaxies swamped
in equations
brooding wind . . .
a darkness over the sea
that once was moon
before it
the sound of rain
through the trees
wind change
birds quieten down
for a whisper
outburst of spring . . .
wintering over all
the Milky Way
old leaf rot . . .
from ruptured seed
rising green
birth cry 
breathstop
a moon
along this path
the way of the ancients
as clear water
twilight hush
empty glasses too
brim with darkness
a wood pigeon
in the forest canopy
wings an ancient sound
alone too
a glow-worm sheds
its own light
the scent
of a macrocarpa
and innocence
is it to see
the moon behind the cloud
the deathmask eyes?
such wonder too
breaks down into silence
trickling stream
this deep
into the interior
where the spring?
as dusk
bruises the lake
visions rise
the darkness
circling Makara
in the gull's cry
muddy pond—
a frog dives into
pre-existence
entering deeper
the mind's underbelly
of curdled clouds
to the stars
a candle waxes
lyrical
everywhere
my invisible history
of being