slowly the white sun
wipes away the forest fog
colors the sky blue
across the river
High Tor sits in fog and tears
rests his prison heart
the sun pastes itself
to the gingko, to the wall
clings to its shadow
dancing on the wind
a leaf disguised as a bird
settles, unmoving
leaves in the front row
applauding the river wind
as the stage lights fade
those rascal twigs
sucking the light from the sky
as the wind rises
each step a miracle
in their walking meditations
a line of toddlers
the wolf at the door
loosing a wistful serenade
tips his grey felt hat
the morning gingko
lifting its purple skirts
takes a look at the sky
grey in the shadows
the sun makes a new bluejay
struts his stuff
the Alps are hiding
behind a deep iron fog
then pink, then yellow
a lavender cloud
is launching yellow birds
as the lake darkens
one black snail
plodding through the pink sand
a wave, and then another
staring through the woods
multicolored leaves all gone
a hungry barn owl
there a sky of lead
here a carmine flash, black, white
downy woodpecker
the dry yellow leaves
witness their common falling
and break out laughing
a perverse northern wind
strips the dainty ginkgo leaves
carries them away
the ragged locusts
their gentle leaves departed
await the first snow
the robins are busy
stripping the crabapple trees
not so our pigeons
a cloud dims the light
wanders on, chased by the sun
sweeping the sky clean
on the long foodline
the women chatter together
the men stare at the sky
a leaf turns its head
wanders away from its twig
and then falls
man limps up the street
with a bouquet of red roses
sun coaxes new buds
hidden all winter, unborn
now ecstatic green
in his frosty camp
the bearded hermit listens
hears the deer joking
each Spring leaf a thought
each blossom a free moment
as the show begins
the night wind pushes
an empty grey shopping cart
its rasping black wheels
green trees are cheering
the tender autumn birds
golden their farewells
rain feeds the dark lake
a waterfall grows downstream
one loon is crying
swimmers poke the lake
the only gull slices by
is that a turtle?
The big black bass I didn’t catch
Laughed at me all night long
The waves are so tiny
Even the lily pads ignore them
Six blue jays argue
While the blue heron stretches
Making up his mind
Green fly hides on lily pad
As blue dragonfly sweeps by
Clouds peer down at us
Morning pines, a flag blowing
One flag, any flag
beak full of catkins
sparrow hunts for just one more
grabs it and flies off
kissed by the river
standing in a withered rank
just plain black pilings
under a gray sun
old men on green benches
some read others chant
the monk by the pond
smears his ink, wipes his paper
trying to draw rain.
the light on the tracks
pushed on by a moving train
soon forgets itself
Night wind in blue light.
A mirror of violins.
Crimson star, white swan.
Ego on, then off.
Here I am, see, now I’m not.
Lightning bug. Firefly.
Monkey finger clouds
suggest a change in weather.
Someone tell the ice!
behind dark windows
up there in their private club.
two lovebirds converse.
he crouches and leaps
blurs as he flies, then lands.
that reckless squirrel.
One sparrow, then ten.
Buildings hum, windows open.
Wise guy thinks it’s spring.
The fog drops gauze balls
on a jet black umbrella
then it wanders on.
if that little flea
thinks he can colonize me
he’s mistaken
an egret flies by
sets down by a small canal
flaps, and goes to work
If you want breakfast
my old squirrel friend, then you
need to seem humble