laying down atop your hope
a shake doesn't determine intimacy alone
but an earthquake certainly is a certain reassurance
of such destructive people as we were when there together

listening . to . the earth

Wading through the seasons past
In a mesmeric dream and wanton flow
Beside river of patience waning fast  
Beneath rain and snow and pollens glow

Don’t scream
Or cry
Don’t wake the trees
Their slumber makes the dry eyes smile

Just to hear the hum of thunder
The rumble of steam
And the distant buzzing of the bees
Is enough for me

I being still
Beneath growing skies of grey and blue
Like a wheaten field hope grows again
And in growing there he waits for you