At Rocky Point--2

Broken stones clog
his throat-song.

Gravel-paved voices
scrape the sky
raw.

Shards of story
stream a fluent
babbling,

as icy waters
erode
and cleanse

the canyoned
past....

One ripped pebble
    at a time
plays a new song

where waters
shining

scatter silver.

Can you hear
music birthing
notes of moss,


caressed inside

walls and wombs
of ancient rock?

From puzzle pieces

his life grows green

fields bursting easy,

a composition groaning
forth ever homewards, 

linked forever to gracious
gusts of earth-bound
breezes.