the rain clouds wait,
woven from sea and
lake, drowning in
their dreary darks,
uninspiring and tedious,
their grey metals stretch
like sheets of steel,
they gather the storm
on their lips, snort
like a bull leave us
treading gingerly, unwilling
to risk standing them down.

where love is,
everything of my heart,
the earth breathes in
deep sorrows or red,
moving like a winter
cloud, burning ashes
like moods, sweeter
than the yellow roses
of autumn.
drift into me, sink into me
until i am a rose of the sky.

a pause, rested against the mill hopper
behind the glass of an eye

these empty mornings
climb through a mindful shell- as passes a gust by bare branch

distant looming giants wade freely tantamount to possibilities
in the house of both existence and not
they flow before us like gods

the clouds drift
like silver rivers,
the rain trickles-
crushed petals of silk.
the little valleys of
sky ruffle like leaves.
the autumn is a
diamond sky-
crisp and cold.

the autumn broods,
moody, full of leaf.
the sky sinks like
a silver ghost,
drinks its pools of
frost, its moments
full of dream.

white as a sheet the day’s
ghosts fade like an
old photograph.
the rivers of the day
tremble and drown
with the rain that
falls and falls.
i am a mosaic,
a floor made of
tiles, ashen with
autumn reds.

we dream like
an autumn sky,
shining in the
waters of a
haunting moon.
i put my
hand in yours,
get that rush
of fever, eye
seeking eye,
lip seeking lip,
leg seeking leg.