all the windchimes sounding incongruent harmonies in the warming breeze.

nascent clover all around
grass so green it burns the eyes.
sulfur pollen on everything
at slightest touch, it puffs and
blossoms into the soft still air
all the windchimes sounding
incongruent harmonies
carried on the warming breeze
all the lovely voices
in unison.

thalassia, my love, how can you forsake me
for the arms of neptune?
your absent eyes speak
my pleas are in vain.

she turns back to the wild ocean
sad seagreen eyes seeking the horizon
a gull cries

as eel to ancestral river
she slips beneath the surface
in deep rippling azure light
her element revealed.

as you are one, you will return to one
i cannot follow..
brief ecstatic hours, loved by a nixie
and i am ruined

my futile tears are seafoam
left on the beach after a storm.
my useless nets left behind
i will cast them no more

in piney woods rotted slave shack stands defined by daffodils

the carrion birds
squabble over red roadkill
greediest bird, more dead meat


( he flew up late
  so met his fate
  fast karma )

don't worry spiders
i keep house
with you in mind


jenny wren nest
in my clothes basket
laundry will wait


verdant field
red horse standing
under white blossoms

loose-knit heartstrings' slow unraveling.

she tiptoes amidst
a thousand pearls
as if walking in air

two wolf spiders
face off on the bathmat
epic battle or sweet seduction


long dark cloud lines
brushstrokes at dawn
nature's i-ching


i'm not crazy - i'm crazed
this old *** has acquired
lovely patina

burning sticks
a simple cycle,
back and forth i go
with the pitchfork
re-building the center

watching fire is timeless
the hours stretched as dali's clock
only the bright blaze
requires attention -
my comtemplation

in the shimmer
of heat's rising
i see a ghost
a figment of imagination
vanishing quickly
optical illusion of you

the gentleman's a patient wolf
he trails his prey so quietly
and plans their quick demise.

his initial fascinations
are figments of imagination-
like melting rainbows, quickly forgot.

an earthy seducer ...
all the tragic ladies
immured in their addictions.

his sharp eye will quickly find
yet another quivering quail
in tallest grasses.

such eager craving -
born of hungry desires
the hunter's instinct

do we know whose bold hand proffered the apple?
both languished in paradise, wander and eat,
making love their primary preoccupation...
do we know who named the animals,
the trees and birds and flowers?
when stewardship became dominion..

do we know what knowledge means?
recognizing your ****** seems a small price
to pay for the world of emotion -
lust's sharp intensity,
the fierceness of anger
or a kiss...

do we know the humble serpent
-God's creation- was to blame?
curiosity perhaps, or boredom more likely,
ensconced in a gorgeous garden
living know-nothings
their idle exploration of Eden.

who wrote this story? who made these myths?
what is now an ossified creed was then
a nascent religion; many claiming the one Truth.
beliefs in faith-based fact flourishing -
all the debates on divinity.

the Garden, The Woman, the Snake and the Tree
this account survived, recorded and writ for ages
a myth that may never have happened..
this ancient story lives on to
confirm the sin and
rattle the soul.

small flock of doves in velvet sky
seven sisters in the crisp night air
these old girls are hot, blue, luminous
ancient constellation between the bull's horns
a parallax of stars.

the sisters are crones at last
huddled together for warmth
their pale aura a dime-store
blueing trick. their wise eyes
wrinkled as elephants, their
expanding memories ascending
the cosmic ladder
into oblivion

poet's red heart
crushed by cruel inattention
in agony, her voice found...
with ecstatic precision
her final words
pierce her illusions
in a blaze of glory

forgive everyone
the greatest teachers often
inflict the most pain

small cricket
sings in clothes dryer
laundry can wait

four leaf clover
pressed in dictionary
dried up good luck

three ripe figs: maiden-mother-crone
fresh and green, not fully grown
gravid, blushing, ripe allure
nut-brown, wrinkled, sun-matured.

which of these the sweetest be?
high upon this old fig tree
maiden tartness bright and young
full womanhood upon the tongue.
drooping breast and brown age-spots
spurned by youthful hungry thoughts.

adolescent, first one picked
complex taste is not quite fixed.
plump and ready, sun-touched mother
ripe fig flavor like no other
ignored by most, her dried-up skin
sags dessicated on the limb.
with sweetest nectar deep inside.
never plucked and never tried.

contrapuntal raindrops
tapping tin roof
fugue state


ignorance is bliss
there is ignorance around here
24/7


a woman's red heart
lives by what's seen within
and felt without

for all our past, the future's come undone.
no longer can love's hope reverse our fate
no empathy, no longing in the heart,
no turning back, the clocks no longer keep
the time we lost while wandering hand in hand.
we set our course, but manifest the split -
no looking back ... there is no truth in it.

i see once more
the delicate balance
on the precipice
the stick on the shoulder
bears the run-away pack
with faithful canine
at heel.

at this moment,
before the fool's last step
from crumbling edge
into unknown territory
i would freeze time.
run back the clock
to the previous dive -

as if witnessing this spiral
could stop this passion play...

perhaps, madness lies in belief
the illusion that
all is well.
that everyone else gets by
coping with daily life
their dreams unscathed
their clarity intact
their mirrors, untarnished
un-muddied pools.

is the illusion of love
preferable to love no longer?
even a shriveled heart
dry as a prune
grows plump with tears
for what is not there.

i hear the cranes again
riding the thermals upward
this warming morning
calling and circling, they
fall into the long v shape
an arrow swiftly northbound

artlessly
i cast my thoughts into space
deliberate obfuscation
small metaphors and speculations

i do not keep
written records of my follies
they arrive at the speed of light.
belonging only to themselves.
flickering blazing dying
ashes to ashes
settling dust.