the shadow passes. darkening the lawns,
dimming the trees, shading the quiet streets.
two kids on bikes try to pedal beyond
the soft invasion of night, their whizz-click
echoes spinning off into twilight space.
a woman sleeps - window open a small
crack - dusk passing over her tranquil face.
a couple kisses behind a church, their
eyes closed just as the spring day hides away.
a child sits in the grass, feeling the warmth
of the sun pulled gently from the back of
his neck. he doesn't turn around. a breeze
tousles his curly hair and he laughs. he
looks at the back of his hand and a spot
of light appears. watching it grow, he smiles.

swan's wake
ripples
rusty leaves bob

gust in the hollow
february breath
snatched

a sound of a distant hymn sails to me
and brushes my ears, weaving between a
rush of wind at my back and a splash of
stream at my feet.  it's late afternoon and
the sun is long, a sprawl of passionate
gold sheltering the ripples of grass.  i
don't know where the church is.  i can't see it
from here but maybe it is a small white
one with fresh paint shaded by a giant
oak that adorns the roof in red and brown
as the light of summer fades into fall.

rain bolts beat the hood.
your look.  sodium yellow.
this street runs downstream.

if emotions are music, then the mind
is the instrument we learn to play.  we
get better with practice, but every now
and then we hit a false note, and hope that
the audience has the heart to forgive.

a moment.  wordless.
lake ripples.  pastel sunrise.
ashes drift.  goodbye.