stone walls do not freefall blossoms sprung
October 2014
a butterfly aflutter the wind within
night vision . . .
words like a cancer
gnaw through sleep
puff by puff
a dandelion's space-time
continuum
hazy moon
hinting of intimacy
shadowed sheets
before this
I am become
the sacred
Southern Cross—
spring light infilling
a gasp, a moon
in such light
silence develops the taste
of music
night wind . . .
all around the sound
of not being
dead low water —
I circumnavigate
my comfort zone
coalsack . . .
shadows well up
to the cross
first quarter . . .
the light tonight
lukewarm too
a poet
awaiting song
doodles eggs
at the window
deciphering the code
of spring rain
vine stock
spring enters me
through scars
under fresh green leaves
my daughter shadow fingers
with the play of light
above the shadow crushed under
twilight hush . . .
shadows lengthen
earth scent
bee loud tree
plum blossoms aquiver
with becoming
moonlit lake —
the doppler effect
of black swans
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