awake with the birds
I distill the who I am
from the edge of light


no longer
seeing fog as it is
becoming fog

so unexpected
the organophosphate
and the mute bird

fogbound . . .
the forgetfulness
of a river

with a spring
all that a tree can
no longer contain

For Hemi

forty days . . .
bead by bead

park bench --
yesterday's warmth
old news

melt down —
the trickling half-life
of spent rods

pond shadows —
tadpoles dress within
old words new

dew fall . . .
entering her shadow
by moonlight