oh, they come in the troves of a’thousands
yes, the gulls overhead come in troves
watching the water as they appear,
and take every saltwater fish from the sea
this is the season of music a'plenty
but plenties tend to appear and recede...

tales from a bench by the fire
in a home so lichened,
recently it sprouted a tree on the roof
this home was constructed
a thou-sand years,
before any knowledge of myself was conceived.

so take every fish from every sea
and take every stock of red beeberries
here i will rest and refill my glass
as the tree on the roof will observe life and death,
these seasons of cold will come and then pass.

She swam by the ocean

She lived by the seas

In her heart a mermaid was she

—AuroraRW

To have sight with no vision

To live life with no air

Freedom with no meaning

Talent with no soul

To have sight with no vision

To have light, but no love

To walk with no path,

To find no end

To have sight with no vision

What life would that be?

—AuroraRW

To those
Who are the infinite
To those
Who senses everyday magic
To those
Who dreams
To those
Who are like home

Lastly
To my own shadow
Who believed
The power of ink

Yesterday and always

i've never seen such
astounding things
a discovery made
on a passage within

i recall sleeping
in celestial cots
made up of cygnus,
pavo,
the enticing lot

green velvet curtains drawn
block out the sun
although the windows are no more than
one
surrounded
by ivies, scripture
and platinum-tipped
pens
the era of thought
all within my
mind...

i awaken from slumber to quite different sights

the very same forces that prevail in this place,
the forces above
alluding, brooding

the thief comes too smug,
wind thrashes the sails
a cynical offering,
all grief to repent,
the season of starving,
the season of lent

isn't it odd how the winds never billow?
over the strangest utopian lands
the islands of women with no trace of men
the archipelagos of shellfish on land
and that one place due north...
beyond arctic bird coves
where wisps of the sky
grace plat-inum snow

the things that you see when it's dark on the ocean
four sailors drunken on laughter and autumn-***
down though the seabed
the lowest of shores
the music through rafters,
flutes clamor and roar...

torn and burdened is the world,
but brokenness never equated unworth
the land once which was
trodden,
the seas overcame
i nod off to sleep
just to shake off the pain
the forces come crashing,
formed over the bluff
indifferently shouting,
unrighteously tough

here from my balcony
on french-spanish estate
once indifferent forces,
concluding in rain.