Dressing the day,
Beaming purely, on bankers
Hours, spinning such fine, spine
Wheel ways, painting the stones
Of grey, never so faraway, showing
Mighty, mirth in maddest Midgard,
Bearing blooms dizzily, trailing
All the new, children who play,
Pick and count, humming with faces
Bright as the late bedding stars
Joyous in the offered cheers
Of the crowning sun, gifts
All, in endless amount.

When love grows out of time
And huddles in a grey season
Of distemper, beware chilling
Same, the deep low downing
Doldrums, the browning burn
Of the left alone flower, deftly
Dying laughter, stale motions,
The hollow rings entrapments
When love grows out of time.

Fall of memories
Past potentialities
All the red lit leaves

Heart aches tossed on beach
Once horizons so stunning
Red sun drowns in sea

Christian Heaven says
Plastic baby Jesus hates
Just like you bigots

Of the unaware dreamers,
Hearts are held breathless
In mid air, shunted in light
Below lips that lie a bed,
Hairs stand on ends break
Drowning with eyes shut,
The flesh that burns cold
Knows only heats of mind
And dreams smothering,
Like so few words alive.

In the love room blankets
Reveal dark in coverings,
The fingers tally bone dry,
Touch, chafed and strafed
Like nails sanded and cut,
Two hearts so long gone,
Untethered, playing foul,
Both agreeing in isolation
That death has two smiles
Frowned, in the love room.

.
Empty rooms are for loving her,
For love in a dark silence grows
And crowded rooms in volumes
Speak as the crush of loves goes.
When may I know ends to trap—
After deep valleys, cold snows?

Bare branches hold ice
Her heart a faint winter tree
Roots encased in frost

Lovers meeting place
Midday kisses they long for
Sun on garden pools

The Blue Falcon, cross the spire,
Waits in the gables of the white
House.  Wounded in youth by crush
Of air, spent, a wisp perched
In the aerie dark with a view of mountains
Blue as ice under glacier.  The wooden
Church from the other side clutches
The sky but the Falcon blue is lost
In a tuft of cloud that bobs but never
Kills.  On this strike he is sheathed in stealth
The dull talons slip as they dry
In the tented air, the songbirds at play
In the high-ground underneath warble
And chide but the Falcon cannot hear
The Falcon near.  His heart is soft
And muted in the breast, his ears
Are dumb to their tickling-songs.  

Before the Falcons time, over
The tilling fields, dropped his world
In the spoils where splendour burst in green,
Rain meant the feathers ran and the woods,
A banquet of game, were bounty's breach
Fording blue currents he was
A fisher in the sun, but the sun
Sank in his drowning sky no store
From plateau to quarry the drought of days
Moved a castle felled in the dancing
Dust, his wings broke in the shuttered
Eye of the sun and etched his form
Into grey silhouette.  

Now, the Blue Falcon, jeered
In the branches of the rooted air
Above the yellowed grass, under the pines
And a great blue mountain, stirs a Druid
Shape, vaporous, in the cauldron
Of the attic in the white house
A throw of stones crossways from
The sacred yews of the steeple spire.

( five haiku )

1
Overcast

Rain painting the streets
Colours lost on lonesome roads
Reflects only grey


2
Dry Season

Question sails in air
Above late summer flowers
Lone white butterfly


3
Things Mounting

Before hurricanes
Wind stirs about treeless plains
Little things matter


4
Salt beds

Great oceans moulting
Lost weight of life giving grace
Scales of dead fishes


5
Caroling

Little angels come
Alł throughout winter they sing
In tree without leaves

Hazel tree, long breeze
Young tendril branches stretching
Woman combing hair