Ephemera
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
mayflies
on a sunlit stream . . .
riding
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
sings
on a whispering breeze
harmonics are enough
Quicksilver
in old age
I dream once more
of horses
opalescent as the mist
wheeling around me
dappled
with moonlight
a mare stops
to touch my hand . . .
velvet breath
I twine
my fingers
in the wind’s
wild mane . . .
follow, follow
crossing
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
Spindrift
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
singing
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