Dare not to think in your imagination that/ Somebody might pluck you./ Bloom with all the anchorage and

Distant mountains echo,/ Thunderous,/ In my heart./ Meanwhile, my mind/ Sways gently/ To looming branches

How to reach the center?/ Holding together this universe,/ that by some law of physics/ Is pulling itself

I tasted from the brook, sucking from/ my cupped hands the crushed shards/ catching sunlight to

The yard is bare and desolate/ Patches of grass laid out here and there/ Weeds have taken over/ A fool’s

lullaby of rain/ raining on rain/ fills the night/ while the village sleeps

the buckets up high/ pouring wide on us below,/ white mountain washed out./ flowers droop in rain

Sea and sky/ show me your/ blue music,/ bring me waves,/ raindrops, and/ pleasant views./ I will take/ rhythm

A  dreamed  ship has gone aground/ at the most marvelous and dreamiest afterglow./ The mast

The roads are two./ One that leads you to the alleyways of dreams,/ And other to the land of distant

The sound of doors/ shutting inside/ anonymous rooms/ during the quiet/ hours when there is still/ light

Quando fiam uti chelidon// The musk rose folds upon herself/ like a mother, keening// Hush now –// don't

This day is extremely long./ The sun is setting by the hills./ Everyone says to stay strong./ At the wake, we

She left him like a boat/ when the tide has gone out,/ sandbank hours; lost hope./ Stole his dreams to

the doppler of traffic/ on a quiet/ sunday morning/ washes through sunrise/ like a seashore/ and the

What if I were to wake before the wild/ turkey that roosts in the sycamore?// Would I look

When I was younger/ there were thoughts of/ chalking the sky and I/ preceded to rummage through

The earth unfolds/ a flower in the sun/ light/ the butterfly/ illuminates/ the afternoon/ brilliant red and

A lune poem// Soaring in the cloud/ Are the eagles/ Coasting on currents

Those winter weekdays/ my father woke me/ to lie by the warmth of the wood-burning stove he heated