autumn wind —
a butterfly grows
more detached

grinding axes
a sharp tongue rubs me up
the wrong way


the dark underbelly
of a rainbow


in the mist


autumn rain —
as the chatter ceases,
only her breath

cloud-robed moon . . .
it stalks me along
this path


after dusk
purple light rises
from the stream


a cool night —
my daughter's moon flutters
on the fridge


a mute child
finds it for me—
the way back


across the night
we are one


twilight bird!
through the bush a wind
shaping sound

morning mass —
dewfall stirs through
the wine


distant voices . . .
the apparition of night
behind the door


the night agape
with a poem's caesura . . .
light before dawn

stormy night —
the distance between
then and now


night conjugates 'to be'
through the tenses

not so green,
a falling leaf spirals
through its is-ness

being now the am which will have been


wordless night —
rain's sound enters
the pool's depths


autumn dusk —
shadows become all
just like that