.
"I shall welcome the majesty of the ******
Loam, the honour of being the daisies mantle
The goodly fortune to sleep under the golden
Stars who birthed my dream of grace and light.

World, ply my ship and sail it to the seas
Of love, poem and song, I proved unworthy
Shaper and so, whereby cold fates decree—
Here lies one, whose name is traced in vapour."
.

.
Novice, heed my diction—
The learned, the schooled, the politic,
Are but fools with conviction.
.

.
Crow in the sun so black,
You are blue, a dark shining
On the green innocent lawn.

Crow in the sun creeping,
On land you are awkward,
In the sky you are blotting.

Crow in the laze of the day,
Your eyes are unbalancing
In the gardens overgrown.

Crow in the sun so black,
You are shimmering dread,
On the green unkept lawns.
.

.
You were my gift,
Soft, sweetness, little one,
Eyes of moon and ocean
Hills of creation, of shadow
And bread.  In your nakedness
I fled the earth and bathed
In starlight and dust at the end
Of the forever of the sky.  
In that silence,
Of exploding cosmos and vapour,
I fell, feeling in your smiles the suns
Decay, I felt light beyond
Its barrier, and was decimated
In the gravity of the neutron
Blue of floating eyes in separation.
Your faraway orbs were lost
To me in the frozen dark energy
Of shunted light and the cold
vacuum of space.
It was my birthday
And you were set on leaving.
It was my birthday
When I nearly
Died.
.

(Sonnet)

Owl, silhouette of lilting sun,
Sentinel on branch, ******* out
Death, the sky, bleeding darkness rung
On the skeleton of ancient trees,
Your eyes are apparition, eternal flame,
Oracle of palliative, divining moon,
Which doles out fettered wisdom, misery
Cloaked in smokes, deep darkening dusk
Loud as silence in wide plains open,
That flay as creeping deserts do unravel,
O how wanton moon shouts like feather death;
Merest whisper as pale wanes on a bough,
Like some wraith, in whirls, conjures mercy,
Only to rail like gust in cupped tempest.
.

~
Suddenly goose bumps
Condensation on kettle
Cold sun showers come
.

~

Veined wings fell when I died,
Fell in mid flight on one last
May Day, on fire with the sun—
Only the dust knew me there,
It fell so gracefully with me.

A downy feather, once was—
Dropped from on high, before
A great white falcon turned the air,
Even thought to prey or of stooping,
Of noble birth was I, falling earthward.

One dry— red, pine needle fell,
Lost in thick piney bed of so many
Others strewn on the forgotten said,
The wind as it unceremoniously fled
And now no path was leading there.

At one grassy edge of a ******—
Bay some gravel clay gave way
To form a place where water, airy,
Lolls and eddies into tiny whirlpools
This was all the dance of my days,

Only the dusk knew me there—
And the unobserved eclipse going
Through all its phases and a forest
Fired, under clovers without bees,
Veined wings— fell when I died.
.