.
Spring appears, buds of pride everywhere,
Loam to sky, water tails congregations fair.

The song of cheery woodland birds, raining
As they sputter, sprite to comely gardens laid,

From near bay window there is a leaving sea,
A growing island of green landings, a canopy.

To witness the slow motion explosions of it all,
O happy is the healing, devotions after the fall,

Freshness, moving as it rolls, old times begun
And colours enriched as they steep in the sun.

All better for catkins uncloaked, to breathy bees,
Blooming toads ring, unearthed, spring appears.

.
The frost, sets in and leaves of red have fallen.
And a cold sun beads on the stiffening ground,
Nimbus clouds, snows of down, now wafted in,
Tagging sun become louder, as ripples on pond
Are waging white with grey, dabbing the tableau,
That nature is painting with a pair of wild swans.

( Sonnet )*

Our tryst was sore, more like pain or penance,
What kerfuffles in our unspoken for eyes
And love grew low, by unanswered questions.
How could we laugh, live in such indifference,

Long, unmerciful time, grinding us down
With not even limitless skies for leaven?
Each day was comic-tragedy, no Eden,
Lives flooded about, simple pleasures drowned.

Yet, each day we dreamed with harnessed wings
Bound together in the throngs, restless journey,
A promise was made on some green gentle isle
And we made our golden shifts such shining things,

Running to rays, future dawns never to come,
Shining things falling mute in dry rots of sun.

.
So many ****** birds,
Grey, brown and black,
Suited as they sully in sun,
In feather and windy-speak
And dream, drifting to profit
Points, marring the globe,
They have so many ways
Of singing on their swings
Behind bars, murky birdies,
Gawking in the crowded fields,
Fielding, flighty questions without
Answer, winging all souls to oblivion,
Who fly, flustering, dusting with song
Twisting the air into pure falsehoods,
Curious, grounded pets for kingdoms,
For masters, fly-hoping in their cages.

.
We made love as strangers—
Do when they eye each other
Separately intimate in a rush,
Our bed was a rack we made
Tortuous and flesh— revealed                                                         ­
As it gave into itself, the moon
Conspired in our dominations,
As we suffocated in the breaths,
Way down sips, of earthy heavens.
.

.
He walked through a wood,
Answering the trees,
Like some golden roustabout,
A Sophocles among nightshades,
Willows and the moving waters,
Wilderness wandered with he,
Wild in the sun as a freckled
Red headed lassie.

White butterflies waved their flags,
Surrendering to the murmurings
Bespoke in the sorrels and sores,
Waves of mumble wept into the winds,
Sands underfoot hushed by with him,
Birds above dreamed of no landings,
He could hear each word in their songs
Warbling in the briars and time poured
Its draught, fresh and dear as the first
Unearthly sunrise.

.
The sea gulls – who fly in wanton
To the horizon, are a spirits
calling, are sea songs falling
To my mind they falter – as I
Have known such cozen to the sun
That falls each day nor do I see
It rising.  My world is weighted,
Under, pass the lining of the quick,
By the mounted cloud which hangs silver
Over the plated night. The owl,
Whose eyes of Janus tails, when wanes
The lids, tied to crescent holey
Whelm of malevolent moon,

Praise over me, with wooly wings,
Is silent as shadow.  I may strut or run
But they do come as the shadows will
With cahooting sun, and the blotting
Bald faced moon, chiaroscuro –
The days feign and heaven pales under
The wake of the luna sea.

       In darkest daylight
I shamble toward the flat horizon
Where the seabirds fly, till their ends,
I take two-faced my faulty comfort
As I see them, falter, falling, yet never
Do they touch the gloaming ground.