Outside is great cave  .  .  .
Coal mines exploding the skies,
  .  .  .  Canaries long dead.

We lie a bed,
Sheltered in cloud,
Your words, soft, cut
Like fawning feathers
Serrated in a bone vise,
Our mattress was a grave,
Six feet, founded asunder,
Your pulling hair ropes me in
Two, the fabric of fleet, tightening
Fingers, laid without guile nor shame,
Without a drop of torn, tearing tenderness,
I am hollow in bleak breaking, spiking silences,
You remain cautionary, vacant in the blanketed hush
Tried, as we were doomed, in the noonday rush of sun
That slept in crawling frosts of creeping shade.

Swimming through deep water
Heading for the Holt?
Stop and pause to pray or prey?
Opportunistic?
Jean van jean?
In the forest there are no sanctions
Just life and death and hibernation

In the urban forest
The place we call the office
Or the Learning Zone
There is so much more risk
Classes clash; personalities clash;
Priorities clash; authorities clash!

The mob rules
The bullies rule
The demands/needs of the customer; the consumer; the learner
All must be met

Where am I in the urban forest
A tree shrew
A thorny owl
A wild Ottter
Or an Osprey with a mountain view

Soaring high above the issues of the urban forest
Far travelled wild Osprey
I yearn to be yew

White face burns in night  .  .  .
Light of moon slides across lake,
  .  .  .  Spot on loneliness.

You carried me,
fed me,
but no debt I owe.
Centuries cradled,
King of your dank filth, bearing upon me the power to change a world.
And then came the day I raised my eyes to see your nations quail amidst the ruin of your flesh.
Perhaps one day again I'll bring to thee
Hell carried long in the belly of a flea...

My memories burn  .  .  .
Red rose lighted by the moon,
  .  .  .  Cold funeral pyre.

Loudly oily crows  .  .  .
Craning, walk prehistoric,
  .  .  .  Shining in the sun.

The browned leaves fall swaying,

And meek sun, is lonely peeking,

Black birds drift with indifference,

Morning, a shroud of fallen cloud.

Ravens scatter outside my pain.
A throw of die against the winters

First snow and the window needs cleaning,
Maybe later.  The running glass

Is watery and after I make love
With you, I wake to the severing light

That is always silent.  The phone
Does not ring, as my cat has told me

Many times, let us play she says,
The way it used to be under

The red wood beams on the hard wood
Floors, you would cry in that vacancy.

Though we lived in a one bedroom
Unfurnished, I called it a dance hall

And we danced silly tangos.  I tried
To lift you then, but now outside

My window, ravens dervish and never
Fly in formation, under blue mountain.

Lovers entered a forbidden forest bower,
And as they stalked that range, with eyes glazed,
She offered up her hind. Now, with doe eyes,
Deep as his, deep in arousal's sleep, heels fell,
As he knocked and pulled her dark honey hair
And whispered, surrender, into wanting ears,
Softly he drove his hunting command, homing
To his huntress.

Her body braced, yet bade, with heat and vibrance.
Ruthlessly, he ****** his arrow deeper and then
Once more and then again.  She bucked fiercely
And defiant, goading his prodding lance ever more
Ever longer, and parting the pink lines of her white
Rose, he was, and once again, Prince to the dark
Dominion of her quarters.

In the middle of this carnal match they paused.
And looking into the forest beyond they saw
A yearling fawn, a feral Goddess, grazing still,
Bathing in a vale, virginal, wholly unmoved
By their act of venery, lustfully playing, in the innocent
Leaves.  It was as if they were among her kin, a gentle
Doe and a noble stag. From that moment on
The human hunters did not speak.

Falling, again, rolling eyes were deep in arousal's sleep.
Her back was a crescent moon pocked and wet with dew.
He could feel her heart beating in time with his piercing
Prong, her arching back glistened in the suns spittle
As it broke through the dark and vernal ceiling wood.

In the final shot her quivering buck lowered and broke
And a sound not heard, made a scene, a sweet murmuring
Shuddered and sank onto the floor of the forest leaves
With her tale, taken and told, her breathless breath,
Her nostrils cold and her heated and lanced openings
Dripping, draining; here was a New World’s beginning.

Sated, solemn and softly quaking, his woman sweetly laid,
And now, doomed with her doe eyes, two lovers, fated, made;
She glowed, divine, like the rolling brook that mellowed
Slow, in the vine-dark and golden forest stable,
In Artemis’s wood.

We fall, following doors, a jarr of sun,

The pale flowering of romantic youth,

As we are painted by pictures we run,

And all new meadows a vale of bloom.

Water nymph, you are the gentle wind
Bursting the daisy, your eyes, are bells
Of blue echinacea spiriting the light—
Echoing sound which water makes, ring
The laureled forest leaves in cathedrals
Newly sprung of pews, meadows, spark,
The dance of bees, who trace your honey
Scent in combs of ambrosia and sunshine.
The miraculous waters are floored under
Your white, lily petals of feet, your nests
Of hair are embracing tendrils of the wild
Grape, wine and sweet, long forgetfulness.
Maid of the wood, daughter to the moon;
Are you of Elysium or temptress of doom?