The red fox
That Lewis
Shot at
And missed.

A river
That snaked
Away into
Endless mountains.

Beyond smoke
Bird wings
Floated between
Broken desires.

And deeper
In brush
The shadow
Leaped away.

Down by the river
At dusk, where eternity
Tiptoes like a cat.

slowly
the tide turns
while the seagulls
ride the waves of air
above the dunes.
The white sails of
storms float on
and away, the broken
shell lays buried in the sand;
I grab it with my mind.
Beyond the dunes
in the cool, dark cedars
the old wind still stirs
salty and brash.

Laid down like a pine
after a mountain wind
after billions of years
the forest of space
is still widening

Sleet rain at night
From a cloudless sky
Was such a beautiful sight
To see you there smiling
Between the stars

On smoked tipped wings, the
Owl sweeps the empty forest;
Death’s sweet renaissance.

Moon climbs spring time smoke
Like a prayer I spoke last night;
The young aspen quake.

Openly devout
The empty branches exhale;
Only the wind sways.