In the still churchyard,
a blood-red blossom—
April morning.

Brown bee walking
    across a crowded sidewalk—
        I would use my wings.

Blackbird couple--
    shopping under the rose bushes
        and sun-broken clouds.

blinding white blossoms
too bright for the mid-day sun
save for a new moon

Cactus flower thorn
divides a falling raindrop
in two.

beyond my window
behind a city on black hills
the moon rises
above the disappointed
flicker of solitary lights

some gray clouds some white
some are higher than others
some have no idea

from high in the trees
crows are screaming their secrets
keeping off the grass

Eagle circling wide,
winding smaller toward the sun
and milky blue clouds.

Now open to rain,
fire took the back of his home—
someone hammering.

First white butterfly—
    are you looking forward
        to summer?

graffiti
on the freshly painted
wall
as cars go by
and traffic lights change

Record heat in a busy neighborhood…

Shimmering sun
    crowding the white sidewalk
        with emptiness.

a butterfly
dancing along the hedge
in the morning
has no concern for
what the night may bring

tongue hanging out
he runs around in circles
grinning
old Jack the Dog
after answering the call

rainy day
no one in the park
except a jaybird
hopping around a bush
happy to be himself

late summer sun
yellow crab apples ripening—
deer candy!

Leaves just turning—
streaks of sun part somber clouds,
warm against sharp wind.

new flowers
of a color never seen
hinting tiny bells
ringing in the brilliant sun
chasing away the clouds

Garland of green leaves,
    wearing a sash of ivy--
        Oak, crowned prince of trees.

Tall, top-heavy pine
displays its fine head to the clouds—
they pay no attention.

tiny pine cones
scattered beneath branches
pockets full of trees

A small pond forms
    from the tiny patting hands
        of the spring raindrops.

When I was a boy,
I lived near wilderness,

and on cold, bittersweet,
windy-sky days
I sometimes ventured out by myself

to sit
and feel
and smell
the crisp wind,

and I could feel myself

in the trees,
in the sharp,
rotted-quartz rocks

and the red clay earth.

Sugar sprinkled
    across a licorice sky—
        the stars!

Hot, skin-kneed summer--
blue violets in welcome shade;
white sun raining down
mightily on fresh cow ****
and the green, new-mown hay.

a surprise cloudburst
in shoes not made for raindrops
Kurosawa rain

A musty feel for the ancient
Took possession of this child
     of Virginia,
Where every field of play
Was a field of ghosts from
     the dying battles’
Dripping carts, dripping air,
     dripping red earth,
And the dripping sun’s slant
     in Fall.

the clouds tonight
once white, floating in blue skies
reappear
in the dark, in the light
from a waning moon

rising late
the moon wanes gibbous
outdoing itself tonight

pretending to be full on the inside
it glows burnt umber round the edges

deflated, ghostly soft
eerily misshapen

the sky around it misty
like the air surrounding streetlights
on a summer evening

it shines on us who were here before
it shines on us coming later

it looks down on us now
as though it had some kind of authority

first shy wildflowers
peeking out from the grass
glad bashful children

Gusty wind
carrying the scent of the sea
far from the ocean.

Through my window,
    no moon over Mt. Tabor—
        swoosh of passing cars.

where once was singing
a fallen wren’s nest baking
on sunny blacktop