Morning

Eyes puff and scratch

with lids which itch

and leak

like little caves

eking out their

moisture,

my uncombed hair's

a mess, I'm sure--

and what's more--

this morning's pearls

ignore their salted

hidden, somewhat

cloistered source,

a placid, robust oyster.

LOVE, FALLING

as a 400 foot

waterfall over

smooth as

skin gray

granite cliffs--

pummels

carresses,

sings and

screams

all the way

down,

the torrent crashes

like summer lightning

might spear a lone

Douglas fir

or how a mob

of wild horses

resounds, hoofs

pounding across

Eastern Oregon's

dusty earth

and the ultimate,

long awaited for,

splash ---

slices clean and deep

into one freezing

pool, while the

softest mist coolly

kisses our sunburnt

hikers' cheeks,

can you feel

the muse's

liquid

whispers

now?

The lone burnished leaf

floats, drifts down

from this tree

like a solo midnight

thief who creeps

in pure quiet

lands sure on

a small tuft

of earth

to paint a

shimmering

soft heart-shaped

print

where

once

there was

nothing,

not even

a pirate.

Sea Sound

It sounds like the vastest ocean

between my two ears,

or a soft sizzling frypan

of energized air.

The cause tho’ uncertain

could be bio-chemical--

it’s like silence on fire

or summer dusk

in Morocco,

all orangeness and torrid

and somehow synaptic

the swish of salt spray

sounds prolifically

invisible

a bluish ocean

of motion tucked

inside my skull

it laps and it ebbs

hour after hour,

pours plushness

and rhythm

right onto

shore,

relentlessly

scours the

wet sand

of this poem.

time: a slender

fleeting reed

sits still as

thick black

silent mud,

reaches towards

a gaping

cerulean sky--

and all unseen

at eternity’s

silvery threshold,

plants her feet

where in rhyme

she oozes,

then begins

to breathe.

time

time is a leaf

turning turning

in the incessant

impersonal wind.

Song for Heidi

Can you hear snow flakes

turn and sift towards

the ground,

still white flecks speak with

ease, crystal packets

of secret fluff

cold cotton whispers

soft, becomes

meltwater,

too brief aloft we

disappear like

white trails

in this rare

quiet,

shall we drift or ford sky’s

swift current, traverse life's

blue river, sing brave and

wild all way

down?