Zéphyr soft upon my cheek
caress my face with spring
dance with me
wash me with rain
bring warmth
and swell the grain
oh fortunate wind
blown from the West
of all the breezes
I like you the best

Winter's song
is high and sharp
a razor cutting deep
everything it touches sleeps
yet out of reach and far below
beneath the wind and rain and snow
tiny plants begin to grow
he may be cruel but here's the thing
winter's soul is the breath of spring

Bird on a winter fence
all frozen feet and frosted wing
scans the sky and wonders why
crows don't fly south till spring

Early morning tea
Sleepy hands on a china bowl
Peace in the garden

Ash
falls soft
upon the name of love
the game of love
the eternal flame of love
which cools until
through burning embers
one remembers after all
how sweet it was to fall

Speak scarlet secrets
A million sweet vermilions
Whispered in the dark

Words have no walls
except for those enclosures we build to keep them in
some are hollow
splendid fruit containing wasps within
others fill with meaning
fattened ears of corn
they are mysterious
invisible as the wind
with the power to destroy
or to fill our sails
if we find ourselves becalmed
words can be everythings
or nothings
without ears to hear
or grace of page
a stage in which to share
they are nought but empty promises
the sound of passing air