jutting twilight clouds
rest low on the horizon
like pink-tipped mountains

i am a strand
a single strand
a single strand of soul
that reaches deep into the earth
and out into space
a single golden strand
growing to infinity
long after the body is left

stranded

swan's wake
ripples
rusty leaves bob

gust in the hollow
february breath
snatched

the 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.