The air is luminous,
the pines fullof poems
and evening gentle presence
piled with gold clouds.

Full moon’s lofty face is
swept with fluttering wings
and enigmatic depths of
a mysteious smile.

A mirage of change, choked
by gentle mist – the joy of
wandering across a wild sky
as dark bounds forth softly.

Summer evenings beginning
inch by inch, their long-eyed
beauty chafes the heart with
the sudden laughter of light.

Here is radience that does not
withhold itself but pours abundance
without selection – no flinching
disguise – only the gold-blue
glow wanting nothing but the
happiness of being.

NOCTURNAL

One bright sheet of moonlight
and a flutter of gold leaves,
a picture opened from darkness,
a torque tree trunk, gnarls of
its sinister face frowning --
a somber vision with brief
streaks seeking the eye of
the wanderer.

In this evening movement
of air, leaves are touched
by a starlit memory.
The woodpecker knocks,
playing his registry of notes,
monotonous yet full of mystery.

Night is a wild creature, filled
with countless visions, sky
turning with prophesy.
In the small hours the tree,
its leaves and branches
ghostlike, as vision fades
around it.

Shadows whisper words
among the nebulae :
the past is not finished
but speaks of other worlds
veiled in illusion.  Verticality
calls to spirit-- Oh, to be given
the gift of flight if only in a dream !

BECOMING

There is always resistance to change,
the pursuit of perpetual growth,
becoming being like the moon’s
relentless phases as night gently
prints itself on world.

Soft rain falls like new thoughts
on fields dancing with spring.
What was there before and gone
is becoming once again.

Clouds drop flushed notes
on the vapor of the air,
bubbles over river pebbles
form, break, and form again.

Becoming is a song not yet heard,
melodies promising wishes  of
unknowingness.

Becoming lies just under that
thin layer of life, those infinitely
precious seconds before what is
to be.

ABSENCE

Absence is a lost langage
inaccessible to the present.
Memories arise like a mirage
and the answer to each question
is no answer, although each unknown feather
that falls tips the balance of world .

Absence is a langage reflected
on waves, foam fragile as silhouettes
of angels blown by the wind,
an illusion held somewhere in the past
we shared.

Where do they go, all those lost words,
names, symbols, leaving behind the plea
of take me with you to your bright
forever ?

24 HOURS

Read in reverse --
cupped wingspan of a flying cloud
drinking the brightness of an evening sky ;
Blazing cascade of northern lights, shadow
spaces rare, unguessed meaning of all
that pours longing into empty places of the night.

There are nebula perhaps cradling new stars
in heaven’s secret constellations, radiance
tender and consumming --

then, a drop of sun, goss-layered gossamer
over a rippled veil of shade and light,
dawn shifting irridescense into milky
pink rose refreshes the fraility of soul.

Day’s ardent color makes promises
fading gradually into the curve
of softening dark-- the silver curve
of early moon or the pyrotechnics
of a falling star.

24 hours, a presence constantly moving on,
a marriage of day and night when earth,
moon, sun and we align.

Climate change

Early autumn, sun’s reticence, too much rain.
Dying roses fall in clusters as fungus pools
in gardens, wetness levening the green.

Frozen mist tightens the air as earth
exhales upwards into a wet bowl
of pale sky, fluid haze heavy with
elements, molecues of water swept
into the gray.

When did autumn come gently,
casting its shadow on an empty bench ?
When did the coolness of air feel
refreshing after summer’s heat ?

Seasons, now violent as war
have overcome the world
with drastic inondation,
acid rain, toxic mud.

How can we look at sunset’s
volatile sky without fear of
tomorrow ?

Come ! Colorful and wild --
like a summer sky, light
stretching shadows long
as possiilities, mixing tints
that fill the day – sunbeams
on the floor, a mirror’s
sudden flash of gold.

Another dawn, another life,
another maybe to be lived,
the means to find the way
through.

Some effervescence caught
in light, the offspring of
a magic formula to see
the star inside the breast,
a small miracle.

Fragments of time come
and go, remembered or
not, and the present,
offered one minute,
taken away the next
when past and future
crowd in like unwanted
guests.

A fountain of wishes,
hopes and regrets,
the unstoppable flow
of feelings, past unchanged,
future unknown, only
the notes of now : bird song,
the splash of waves, the whisper
of the breeze, to comfort with
their gentle symphony the
weary heart.