a waterspout
spins toward the horizon
sand scours
the words we wrote
with augur shells
 

gentle waves
he learns the word
for "bubble"
with the palms-up
shrug . . . of "gone"
 

At the fountain
bright water droplets shift
with the breeze . . .
my child leaps from the path
to catch a glittering sun
 

winter night
an unknown bird singing
in a tree
music of forgotten joys
from branch to star to branch

I wonder when
the sky deepened
into night?
On layers of sadness,
a sprinkling of stars.
 

Monsieur Van Gogh,
though blue and yellow swirled
wind through stars,
did you ever realize
that colours were your soul?

Leafbuds swell
on leaf-bare trees
The hills grow round
with the softness of green
and my body curves to hold new life
 

The little ones
forget that we left behind an ocean
silver-still with moonlight
I also must forget,
must remember in a different way

A single pine,
just below the summit
on a small ledge –
old and gnarled as it is,
it sure puts up a good fight.
 

Not even
under mortar fire
do they flinch;
the Buddhas of Bamiyan
take refuge in the dust.

the girl
in an angora sweater
riding
the ferris wheel
alone
 

twilight makes
a child
of me again
i hear
my mother call

Suggest surrender
to sweet possibility
and eyes go askance.
So we long and hope for joy,
yet, invited, fear to dance.
 

Angels and goblins
gather outside my door –
it is Halloween.
Tomorrow I'll go to work;
some masks are not put away.

only a strong wind
could free tonight's moon
buried in cloud
now it stretches and glows –
my life's purpose
 

the moon's sickle
slices the night sky
time to reap
what I have carefully grown
in my harvest of years

planting season
has come and gone
still these seeds
in a jar on my desk
next to your picture
 

you painted over
the lush green walls
of your room
the day after you go
everything touched with frost

 in slow rain
 the swooping of starlings
 over the driveway
 the thump of your heart
 as we hug
 

 After buffet,
 we buy groceries
 this July night.
 Gentle squeeze of your hand
 down the aisle

green tree frog
perched upon my palm
. . . the man I love
delicately offering
mosquitoes
 

A darkness
i never knew existed—
this last stand of trees
becoming smoke
behind a sea of houses

A summer night,
On these parched lips,
Falling dew—
If the dampness could revive
This deep and blemished love.
 

The old well—
Its stagnant water covered,
Reserved;
Its coolness used to revive
Flowers wilting in the drought.

The third wash
and the scent of you
faded from the pillow
i sleep alone
resigned

blue turmoil hurls
my boat from wave to wave
all day long
shearwaters glide with ease
among the crests and troughs
 

red cabernet
casting candlelight
reflections
of past toasts to loved ones gone
and those who will outlive us

cat sprawls
at the foot of the stairs
ready for attention
    actor bows
    at the curtain call