A rose, pre-bloom, gives rooms a swoon
with June looming we ‘true-lovers’ croon
to whom we love like the singing loon
on ponds, far below, during foggy dawns.

Her lilting song travels on light gusts
a dusky hue with wafting musk
silhouette sits still in the opposite dusk
while fawns nibble delicate fronds.

A valley beneath wreathed in mist
gentle breezes distort and twist
two geese entwined in a lovers tryst
float along blowing jazz sax songs.

A fox awakens to the sounds
to the ponds edge, down and around,
he hunkers low to watch them drown
in broad strokes he follows along.

The ensuing gloom sends the loon to soar
as she can stand to watch no more
blood and feathers find the shore
a fox, engorged, yips his song.  /

~
Tiger grass in the Willamette Valley hides canine anaconda
they slither unseen except for the sifting chaff,
westerly breezes give them total cover until the attack
of tongue and slobber. We sit, half expecting,
a pounce and roll. The scratchy paw against cotton blend
inspires distant tree frogs to croak and seek
mates and pools perfect to harbor new life.
Delicate eggs surrounded by slime fly up and over
heads not paying attention, heads that instantly become open caverns
and howl like banshees at splashing hounds in the moonlight.
Disciplinary tones squelch exuberant activity and
three old men with hanging heads gather around the fire,
unable to make eye-contact or even muster up the courage
to lay upon booted feet of angry masters. Only the occasional whimper
rolls across the valley as even the frogs fear for their safety.  /

Each head accounted for
and every paycheck cashed,
we hunched near a campfire.
My father struck a match
and touched the tip of a Lucky Strike.
The horses whinnied softly
and stomped their hooves,
the cattle bawled in the corral.
My father leaned closer to the fire
took one long dirt-flavored drag
drew another square from the pack
and wished one day he could watch it all burn.

~
Contorted faces frozen with fear
witness a mother caress and hold
tunnels and caves and villages
in a warm one mile embrace.

Foreign clouds fill the sky
and fall back to the earth
sluffed skin carried on unnatural winds
flutter like a butterfly across the sand.

Fleeing sheep herd in rubble
square pupils dart and scan
burnt shrubbery offer no sustenance
as the economy of the foothills is spent.

Low rumbles of passing planes
give rise to wailing children
nervous eyes cast themselves to heaven
waiting for God to fall again.     /

~


Heat mirage on sandy soil
disintegrating cirrus left from the cool night
skittering horn toad flattens to hiss before
leaving the sunbaked earth
for shadowed hollow protections.

Large red-bottomed fire ants
carry back to a simple hole cuttings of magpie
they store foodstuffs for the hard months ahead
while cleaning the land of rotting bodies.

Hollow bones stripped of flesh
begin to bleach and crack
stiff winds pile feldspar and quartz along the western edge
of a bird long free from nest building and chick rearing.

Only a passing coyote gives the magpie body a second thought
before turning west towards dancing foothills.   /

~
Musing at music one morning in May
my thoughts journeyed within
at sounds of noise and parts of speech
and wind through limbs in spring.

A whistling thrush upon a post
brought me back around
gifting song to weary ears
before flying east towards the sun.

The bamboo rustled in the breeze
as koi swam in long slow rounds
new shoots of lily burst
through the surface of the pond.

I felt his fur against my leg
and a purr rattled my lobes
yellow eyes looked up as I glanced down
both of us frozen in a moment.

A squawking Sterling broke the spell
we stood too close to suet
his need was great and his boldness grew
as he lit upon the thrushes post.     /

~



flickering gaslight behind barely tinted safety glass
shadow plays across pale skin and
wine glasses rest on silver laden holders

languid smiles find me eager
and the gentlest stroke of an index finger
send shivers rocketing up from my toes
and over the top of my head

she pulls away playfully before I can
collect and hold the appendage
wry eyes cast glances
and she leans in placing soft sweet lips upon my own

we think ourselves safe and alone
as the petting becomes more heated
far off to the west, peering in through the patio door
an old lover wanes and falls behind the curtain  /