dead low water —
I circumnavigate
my comfort zone
night wind . . .
all around the sound
of not being
in such light
silence develops the taste
of music
Southern Cross—
spring light infilling
a gasp, a moon
before this
I am become
the sacred
hazy moon
hinting of intimacy
shadowed sheets
puff by puff
a dandelion's space-time
night vision . . .
words like a cancer
gnaw through sleep

a butterfly aflutter the wind within

stone walls do not freefall blossoms sprung

the all the permutations of is-ness

freefalling the blossoms sprung

she who becomes
the apparition 
of her scent

a part across from a godwit's carbon footprint

what is left
after the fall
of shadows
yes there
the other—
a sanctuary light
fills her eyes
a sand wader's
on a rock
absorbed in a daydream
summer rain
with each gust
a gull alights afresh
on the fence
half moon . . .
a loopworm poised
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
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 
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
entering deeper
the mind's underbelly
of curdled clouds
to the stars
a candle waxes
my invisible history
of being