rain-filled ruts reflect
an apple red summer sky
that highlights brown hills

in the wind my skin
revels amidst bitter-sweet
echoes of that day

wind, you will have a
terrible time smothering
my soft clarity

a good poem somehow
makes what’s true a little more
disturbing/profound

Poem within this poem
Grace inhabits this body…
image finds its Source

I love you, but it’s
not the finish, not the end
but the beginning

You say “I love you”
a sound so tender that the
dead could even hear!