in clear water
my feet
bread and wine—
this becoming of all
that is broken
crushed down
the olive branch
of sonship
almost full
this rite of passage
by moonlight
autumn light . . .
outlines of life blur
at the edges
leaf fall
head over heels
with the mundane
autumn tones—
panning eternity
from all this
all this
what is it
the word
o lifeblood moon!
you desevour undividering 
russet leaves—
a dream in spring
lingering sleep—
blossoms endure
through all this
autumn tide—
how long is language
on the way back?
weathered nude—
the sculptor hidden
in no sound
where words end
once spent

empty words become me

between dates
the dashes that once
had meaning too
haiku stone—
a lichened epitaph
sketched from life
threadbare words—
a chill wind bites 
into autumn
my child!
red ochre stensils
such hands
dark rain—
an ache of worms
inch for me