Triptych

a crow rants
from the dead centre
of a deluge

a new dawn
the moon sinks prostrate
before it

a sapling
rooted in nothing
but absence

as if silence
could ever be enough
all night vigil

autumn leaves
           each day adazzle
     in doubt

cold hard facts
yesterday's atrocities
today's warmth

crest-fallen sky
a finger-scrawl of clouds . . .
autumn ends

dawn vigil
all the unknowns
melt away

Easter dawn
silence is pregnant
no more

harvest moon
a pumpkin vine retraces
its origins

hushed at dawn
a baptismal fire
arises

in darkness
birds trill towards
what's still to come

in hushed tones
a promise of colour
quickens the sky

linen shroud . . .
snowed under with ranks
of body bags

nagging thirst
as if a cool spring
would burst forth

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_jc2sQuOEPY

not yet spring
yet see how its absence
appears

Paschal Moon—
Death,
wherein lies your sting?

six minutes . . .
the very stones
cry "no more"

spring thaw
what was lost here
in silence

summer burns out
having found no fulfilment
in such warmth

the winter tree—
a veteran climbs down
to see no more

there and there
so near still
a mayfly’s was

"Tom's a-cold"—
ashen snowflakes melt
on each tongue

winter thaw . . .
gutters brim over
with gaiety