August 2013

winter's end —
a neverending story
quickens the past

blood red sea . . .
a day's coagulation
of beached words

la petite mort . . .
the coldness of the sea
withdrawing

winter retreat —
love-lies-bleeding droops
into darkness

acrid wind . . .
the scent of night,
a weapon

spring awakening . . .
a child breathes deeply
the winds of war

Anzac Day . . .
an ashen grey sky
reddens

cross tide . . .
godwits imprint
their return

rite of spring —
the path lost
in a delirium of light

unrolling
darkening scrolls —
winter tide

spring elegy —
a morepork prophesying
through the night

what pathos!
how a dewdrop becomes
a metaphor

trembling pen —
river fog redefines
my limits

'property is theft' —
the grey warbler raises
a shining cuckoo

clearing sky —
my GPS intones
its elegy

broadcasting a storm
a widening web spans trees
of indifference

wayward wind —
the whole world glistens
within a web

morning dew
even now perishing
but the birdsong . . .

setting sun —
light rages against
its dying

darkened church —
a votive candle lingers
in the mist

a cosmic storm
twirls through her fingers . . .
butterfly sounds

night vigil . . .
this stillness pregnant
with her presence

earth tremor . . .
the basso profundo
of ancient gods

'fiat lux'—
after seven days,
this vast chasm

expanding night . . .
the sound of a morepork
between stars

crescent moon —
silence drifts out of
my empty page

unmarked grave —
forest shadows rise
against the mound

wordless . . .
a hatchling flutters
in the dark

seen through,
an honesty ripens
in darkness

moonstruck,
a river wanders off
in a dream