the wind darkens
within my listening —
longest night


 

icy veins . . .
the wind parts a way
to the deep north


 

winter storm —
the sound of one colour
blowing still


 

late spring . . .
a bull snuffs out
the flowers


 

breathless dawn —
a mosaic of leaves
lighten up


dawn breaks out
in tongues of fire . . .
frosted earth


 

after dusk
in a muskrat's wake
primal slime


 

swaying reed —
the flutemaker reads
a closed book


listen!
the sound of grapes
being crushed


all at sea
a lone pigeon maps
the way home


 

wintry night —
streetlights overlap
shapes of me