the landscape
drew cumulus green;
the full moon shattered,
falling in the dark night,
its pale glow
fringed the head of trees,
fireflies
in the muted sky.
my backyard was outlined
by the frayed edges
of the moon, its ghost like images.
I swept the rooms;
in the woods nearby
moss steadily crept
and consumed my backyard.

Sitting on the bench
under this weeping willow,
I talk to you.
As I throw my voice across
the breeze catches my words,
and brings them back to me.

I make
watercolor images of you
on my paper.
Stroke after stroke,
using shades that I like
to fill the crevices and gaps within me.

Tonight I throw pebbles idly
into the stream.
As fishes gather around them
I talk about us to the moon.