Sharp shard with blood, it cuts
your armored heart of crystalline
no one knows you, nor gets in
barbwire wrapped and shut
black, the deep - you've fallen
your desultory descent ever sullen
gasp of strife that smokes
and chokes apart your life
makes a slave of you, alone
calls for your blood
and bones

In the night air, of ghostly moon
starry the darkened blues, quiver
some falling from the sky to startle
under murmuring trees, we rest
and never sleep, we seek to know
what night will conjure
strange drunken allure
of the celestial

Planetary fools
entranced by moons
magnetically pulled
ebbed and fallen
just another day, we lay
soon swallowed by
the sun

Strange path, with green overgrown
a place unknown, a wild bird haunting calls
as if to wake, coax the light of dawn
wet my steps, break with day
I wait the sun, to come
lighting slow, a lonesome home
or far off hills of grassy yellow
I hear the smaller birds too
beyond these trees, among the reeds
sing glorious amid morning's meadow
and I, entranced deep in nature's glow
can only hope to follow.

It is nothing hard to reach, looking outward
countless distractions, how they move me about
I play a game, circling moon-blue rings of sky
see a rivulet of stars quiver by.

It is nothing easy, fretful, I tremble with night
dark unnerving path, I run and hide
amble, fumble my way to reach inside.

It is something worthwhile at times to swallow a river
dredge miles of soul, to crumble stony towers
reconstruct this apprenticeship
slipping back into softness.

At last the end of rain, the pouring all of day
I watched desert birds, thirsty - perched, bathe
sunset, a stretched string of blue, unraveling
a flash of light fading into black
splash of gutters overflowing
water drops, the rooftop
drips upon piled rocks
just outside the door
my glad goodbye
a drenching day
sulked away
void of sun
the teary sky
cried

He is from fields, endless prairies
runs with buffalo on the Oklahoma plains
all of nature runs through him
restless as a river, he is winding
weaving, fording the depths of soul
masterful, he spends days exploring the outer lands
his hands must be winter leather worn, and warm
in Spring he gathers flowers for his lady's home
sees her essence in sky blue clouds
wanders the salt creek way back home
or sometimes lost in the wild hills
he may lay all the day, watching shadows fall
the wane of sun that melts into moon
or watching storms in gradient greys
windy skies sway with darkest rain
he is soaking in all that he can hold
all of nature transforms his soul
his words are woven - spun gold
sublime, are his poems
to behold.

Love silent, falls
it touches soft, invisibly floats
unseen by the scope of eyes
comes brushing by, or comes in a down pouring,
wet washing the soul, unwavering, wordless it unfolds
travels most rugged terrain, smooths the way
there is no season for its efflorescence
it sits, a silent bud, any moment to flower
always we know it's fragrance
it is the way, the path
a flitting, ethereal flower
one, that we can never grasp