I walk slow on a
road that bears leaves in mountains
on the peaks of spring.

#1
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.

#2
in fog a tree steps
back graceful, allows passage
shedding misty skin.

light fall of the moon
gently caresses the tree
and subtracts some dark.

silver sliver slides
through dark blue breaths of still night
on a cricket’s song

#3
voices of snowmen
call the white-haired children home
then melt in their mouths.

beggar’s withered hand
stretched out inert, silent as
if already dead.

The old ones, bookends
whose bodies encrust their lives
find peace yet again.

#4
a good poem somehow
makes what’s true a little more
DISTURBING/PROFOUND.

melting candles drip
with hidden light most precious
a grain-growth of gold

Poem within the poem
Grace inhabits this body–
Image finds its Source.

#5
I love you, but it’s
not the finish, not the end
but the beginning.

flow’ring thru silk sleeves
are come memories of all
the moments of life.

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

#6
I raise my hands high
to have them remember you
they trace you in air.

together they sway
like a small boat on a lake
hull snuggling waves

there is no rainfall
no wind’s taste nor full moon’s touch
soft enough for you.

#7: Final Call
Come. Walk beside me
Heads held high we’ll sing into
the difficult dark.

River meets river
They meld, one to another
our beings, the streams

We journey slow, on
a long road that leads to a
Final, Always-Dawn.