milky way


no leaf stirs. . .
yet mist rising
from the water's surface
. . . . . . . .swirls
in slender vortices of light

a feather
floats from empty air
into my mind
the desire comes
to live as lightly

on a sunlit stream . . .
the earth’s soft breath
into a single dusk

grass bows down
before the wind
and grass rises . . .
the valves of my heart
open and close

the wind harp
in my narrow room
on a whispering breeze
harmonics are enough



in old age
I dream once more
of horses
opalescent as the mist
wheeling around me

with moonlight
a mare stops
to touch my hand . . .
velvet breath

I twine
my fingers
in the wind’s
wild mane . . .
follow, follow

a river of starlight . . .
the current
carries us swiftly
toward the sea

a glint
of fools’ gold
as we reach
the farther shore
the scent of thyme



a swirl of birds
across the winter sky . . .
I sing
the shifting shapes
of star and starling

my song
has no words,
or only one—
the syllable that seeds
both emptiness and form

no name
for the no-thing
that flings up foam
and draws it back again—
this froth of stone and oak

I am a leaf
caught in an eddy
my way downriver
to the distant sea

silver fish
dancing on moonlit ripples
don’t die
when the wind dies down. . .
they were always water