Mist, dew and rose.

Three songbirds rose
Their wings quiet—
Weaved a riot—

Breath, then bone and blood
Whispered to noise from, for mud
Let them grieve, let them—
Yet another young note
On the hard-baked stem.
Restrained do not

Cry
Nor bleed or melt a flushed blue
Pearly melodies of sky
Do no do, do not do

Ask of liberty—
Pretty, petty property.
What of birds?
Clumsy drip-dropping words

Only a breath weeps
Only bone shakes
All ballads, the blood keeps
Only the carcass wakes

And silent, silent goes
Into the blooming blue goes—

But we walk away

when life still  holds more-

indeed every day-

for us to explore

Short sentences do me well

I don't labour over what to tell

My future might
Be very bright,
As could be yours,
By your choice.

when someone dies with a forest full of light in their mouth
there is no asking “can we replant those tall oaks”  
there is no longer any waning of the moon
not waiting for the fullness to add to the fluorescence of a mouth
when someone dies with so much light
you thank the earth they every sprouted from its minerals bathed in flesh with shiny eyes that reflected like the oceans water

When someone dies with a forest full of light in their mouth
you can weep for beauty complex to do so

you be so lucky to die with a forest full of light in your light

I would still love you
set ablaze ten suns with a match
and run after a wild rabbit in the forest even after dark

there, I am sure I would not fear
even the rustling leaves

there they could punish me, bring down the inquisition, accuse at the stake, but I still would find a way to forgive and smile in your direction

I would still love you
sometimes I do not think it good
to feel such things

What’s a maid doing running into the woods after a cow
what’s the earth doing revolving the sun
don’t ask me. Don’t ask me anymore.

Where ever the water leads, I go … trickle trickle, trickle no longer ice
no longer thick and sturdy
and willing to carry anything
light and fluid I rest
to nourish what’s around wherever I go