sundogs past the vale --
late Spring's changing wind atop
the same, sturdy tent


bald mountain rains--
the worms retreat
with every step



'

sunset river-bat~
i stand deaf on the loud shore,
with star and crescent moon


'

Spring-summer fronts ~
tornado siren, trains;
owls on the edge


the French Broad's roar
doesn't drown the bass across--
campsites decay

pristine pristineness~
comparing filth with (to less) filth,
unnatural taste

'
individual--
tree, then mycelial port,
ants, woodpecker feast.
earth, life, openness;
a walking-staff's thud.

~


water's tone
over three leaves~
a steady stream



~

mountain spring of Spring--
a higher note is struck
in flowing free

shady water source--
salamander audience
of fullness' ease

mountain nooks in bloom--
univied cradles pause,
contact deeper breath

~

almost summer--
a level ridge
stretches our backs

~
growls in the Spring dark--
a large rodent returns home
to unwelcome guests.



Spring lushness--
mountain sunrays glide north
as we climb




woodpecker echoes ~
the empty forest vibrates
my growing hunger


~

today i die and far away winds may blow, lifting kites children hold while running.

On the sand.













.

barkless willow,
bedding a dry stream--
fox graves curled


















.

Red bark, weeping--
Fox prints in mist bridge
a Spring stream.
Is the Turtle's snap a game?
Is the Turtle's snap a game?

‐---------------------

Acorns fraternize in the leaf litter, sifting through tired tales of falling.
A yellow sun cranks knives into yellow sinews of nearly perfect grey
where twilight is smiling for no reason,
and we all sleep overlong,
as our tomorrows
lapse into gone.

The Politics of Amber
Is how Love is not the first thing
that you know.
It buries the lead in the forefront
Of a Trojan Horse.
The mane, majestic in the wind-
up your aspirations.
But always where a weeping oak
Had a reason…

To paralyze a
Life.

Or Two.

.
comprehending it for the first time, struck
numb and wretched. uncomprehending
shivers rib joy with age--
agendas churn
even as a salty dryness barely clears--
eyes contort in livid forms of love

vacant carols fail to mute calamity,
though once a bluebird sang at snow
abstracted from the core-- fly away
from a season's playlist monoculture,
reinvent this home, audacious now
to be a courage happiness
for youthful eyes no longer simply young