September 2017 – Page 2

the pen freshly inked
yet hesitating over
whose name is written
–
falling leaves-
unheard, a hawk
passes overhead

rough fisherman’s hands
haul up the day’s catch under
a mackerel sky
–
circling hawks-
shark skin clouds
promising rain

howling in the night
a cold wind pounds on my door
straining the hinges
–
black rain-
branches scrape
my darkened window

in the stinging rain
waiting by the library
for the doors to open
–
sleeping rough-
water from the downspout
soaking his coat

rising from a dream
tasting a memory that’s
almost elusive
–
floating-
beholden to the wind
over a rising sun

under thick brambles
a stream runs through an arch
in an old stone wall
–
empty talons-
a chipmunk
avoids its fate

little galoshes
stomping in puddles under
pastel umbrellas
–
thunderstorm-
rain shedding off
an elephant ear

the smell of sea salt
carried on the inland wind
by dangerous storms
–
flying fish-
on the bowsprit
the sea in her hair

children of gaia-
seeking purchase in every
crack in the pavement
–
dripping eaves-
english ivy climbs
these old stone walls

pearly morning mist
the crew of eight rows as one
curling flat water
–
bulrushes-
a passing wake
laps the shore