July 2013

winter breeze —
embers dying
glow once more


my cabbage patch
resists Monsanto . . .
white butterflies


huddled up with flu . . .
my heart becomes a stranger
to the word made flesh


fogged up,
are these windows
like death?


distant echoes . . .
the Homeric laughter
of yesterday's news

weeping willow —
the silhouettes of me
cast by wanton stars


street litter —
genetic debris drifts
all around


fallen leaves —
the tree an oak becomes
in winter rain


a gull's cry
snared by the wind
fades from sight


a morepork's cry —
helplessly I grow older
night by night


a morepork’s cry —
curling through the valley
silence finds a voice


a morepork's cry —
far from the world of words
alone with the moon


candle flame —
a breeze flickers by
with darkness


a night
slow in ending
inches by . . .


this stillness!
where does it come from,
ebbing tide?

shining cuckoo!
another must reap
what you sow


far away —
the sound of a river
shaping worlds


crescent moon —
light drowns within palms
of emptiness


bitter wind . . .
no longer the sting
of absence


breath mist —
the words I whisper
in my face


stormlit sky —
the still rolling 'r's
of the locals


a thin line parses tense between us


through this valley
generations have trod
. . . have trod

an abyss
drumming between stars —
wordless vigil


morning chill —
'quardle oodle ardle'
magpies signing in

dead low water —
my coming and my going
merge as one


under her feet,
the dankness of rotten leaves
joins the dance


before dawn —
white crosses fly through
city streets


lightning flash —
city streets rumble
free of words


winter dawn —
the loss of life
while we slept


winter moves
through my body —
spider web


winter night —
the earth resounds
off key


is this real?
the oceanic swell
of dry land

haiku drip
with inanities
on life's parade . . .

wintry rage . . .
summer simmers soundly

night tremor . . .
ancient vessels groan against
their moorings


lost to age . . .
his path expands in dreams
across the wasteland


earth awaits
fervor's infilling . . .
night tremor

a pen sounds out
the ache


this dark night,
how long does it stretch?
distant bird

dark forest—
the sound of leaf rustle
within me


notice board . . .
messages curl around
rusting pins