mobile call —
the spring in her voice
in the rain
January 2014
mountain mist
almost to see through
not a word to say
limpid stream . . .
my eyes hold on
to nothing
windswept rain —
everyone I pass
a Buddha
. . . . . . . . . .
. . . taiga . . .
. . virtually . .
. . . . a . . . . .
. . . haiku . . .
. . . . . . . . . .
cloudless day . . .
surface ripples terraform
a stream bed
dusky sound . . .
my smile enters hers
noiselessly
windswept dunes —
what lips pare mine
of words?
a black swan
stretches into the mist
silencing heaven
in silence
a rose darkens
the night
autumn shadows —
my image slips behind
a thousand eyes
new moon —
emptiness tugs
at me
tribute to john carley
wind dance —
a blackbird parts
from its song
seeming new
a path of milestones
through tombstones
new year wind . . .
a cloudfront unwinds
its forecast
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