The prism bends light,
dividing beauty by speeds;
how much I don’t see!

——ℜ——

In the half-moon light,
my flute adds a cedar kiss
of song to the breeze.

——ℜ——

A radiant light
pierces dark and weighty clouds,
evoking my song.

——ℜ——

Bathed in bright cascades
of heat and baking soil scents,
I am cleansed again.

——ℜ——

Among withered trees
etched against the slate gray sky,
three bright blue jays play.

——ℜ——

Dreams of a New Year
–elegant, fragile, fine–warm
the cold, silent nights.

——ℜ——

Among withered trees
etched against the slate gray sky,
three bright blue jays play.

——ℜ——

Cap and gown are bought.
A morning light now beckons.
Go with love, my son.

——ℜ——

The sun is rising,
and the numbers still don’t work.
An inner storm roils.

——ℜ——

She’s seen my changes
and still stands here, beside me,
watching sunsets fade.

——ℜ——

Dreams of autumns past
fill the summer air with scents
of leaves remembered.

——ℜ——

Grains of golden sand
pass through my frantic fingers:
dreams of days now gone.

——ℜ——

The wind uproots trees,
tearing me from mother’s grasp.
My weeping wakes me.

——ℜ——

The tree crowns whisper.
The leaves bow, rise, flutter, dance,
as summer rain taps.

——ℜ——

From their leafy loft,
cicadas sing with songbirds
in their gospel choir.

——ℜ——

Early morning storm
shakes the wet earth with thunder,
scares the kids awake.

——ℜ——

Still air and still leaves:
the earth is holding its breath.
Only waters move.

——ℜ——

A cold, cutting wind
blows hard, and to save ourselves
we cling to bare twigs.

——ℜ——

The willow dances
out over the rippled pond;
I can hear the song.

——ℜ——

A great V flies South
against heavy laden skies.
I stand unprepared.