I listen to the ebbs of the day
it never stops.
Under orange sky
I force a smile,
the coarse roots of the earth
rolls into one,
stepping forth, testing .
I fall to my knees
peace evades me.
I bench by parched broken trees,
breathing in a forest of leaves
am I my own law?

And it rains here,
with the soak of grass
between my toes.
Blessed  lichen mounding
on tree stumps.
The Magical sun ascends
upon the hill.
My soul is replenished.

Today I heard the dancing of the wind,
salty air upon my clothes.
I braided with nature,
like sandals and clay
forever in rhythm.

Its the dawn of a long blade,
turning alongside the grass.
It was the hope of another day,
walking on bare feet,
like sandalwood.
climbing the waterfall.
Those memories turn like pages,
like the first gust of rain,
scented like leather
dusty and brown.

The siren isn't just a warning,
as its white Icicles fall to the ground.
My conscience has a clarity
We swim to the brink of the river,
where I fear the swirls of an whirlpool,
holding myself up from drowning,
breathing and fastening the wordlessness
of  heavenwards

I spoke to the trees,
but the lectern  would not listen.
I got up in the dark
and the sky tussled with the weeds,
who wrote a poem for me
and with open arms
I applauded it.

I went off together,
through the trees
gained in insight,
and invited them to hear,
to the serenade,
yet being alone,
from dream to dream

It's raining on the windowsill
a forever lonely man is in a quandary,
its sad news
love has stalled:
satin excuses straight as lace.
Old Man is forever aware of changes.
Now the Sun is peeling,
and his sojourn has faded,
like the journeyman easing into discomfiture
while the moon ponders.

Christmas  decorations in the dark,
same day motifs inspired by you,
hopes undeterred on fetching wind,
silver baubles bobbing on the bay.
Dormant dreams forlorn in Winterland,
yours is the world
begin with it.