Tangles And Reflections

Tangled up in roots beneath
the silence in the chaos,
harbors lined with freight and steam come and go with rolling tides,

sinking into suns that rise,
golden, flaming, black and cruel.
And all along the shoreline, the eyes
sway and shimmer into the pool.


Among Ancient Giants

Strokes sounding as clean as winter’s
singing into the cold air.
Chopping as precise and powerful as
the men taking hold of the handle
to begin their work.

The oak, its roots as deep as the core
where from this myriad family was
tall and austere, the ironwood not
giving way to the song the men sing.

Each of them, the men, the oak,
doing as they do that they may live,
only that they may live.

The rules of one, governing not
the other, but the rules will be kept
to keep one another alive.

The laws will be respected,
whether or not they are our own.

Rain In The Valley

I saw the rains coming in over the mountain in waves, sheets of droplets that moved like sheer curtains, constantly changing shade.  The waves rolled in, closer and closer, the curtains dissipating into their individual drops, atoms of the waves, until the curtains were no longer there and the waves became a singular, steady rhythm, tapping their song upon the ground.