her ankles . . .the path into the mistso endless!
the moon . . .the moon it becomesin her eyes
one halfafter the other . . .full moon
ripplingin water's sound —tadpoles
rainforest . . .traces of a butterflyincensing shadows
a tv somewherenumbing the sound of nothing —moonless night
morning fog —the brushstrokes of a dreampainting day
summer rose —the fire of its bloomwithin its scent
these traces of dreams . . .high winds shaping cloud layersof indifference
new year leap . . .the sound of waternear and far
before dawn . . .a pilgrim among mangrovessighing mist
ancient garden . . .a slug retraces the glowof its path
a blue rinseof withering clouds . . .wind from the west
fossil forest —incoming waves obscure another past
summer stream —a mayfly breedingshadows
summer stream —does the mayfly in matingknow why?
summer shadows —a Noh play unfoldsaround me
dry winds . . .a premonitionof green
night winds . . .the ones that blewin childhood
at year's end . . .already the marblingof her skin
pre-dawn chill . . .backwash from night's flotilla of dreams
expanding night . . .the sound of a moreporkbetween stars
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