Stonehenge

the dawning solstice-
children of the earth and sky
taste the rising sun

pheasant’s eyes-
ghosts of stone men
herald the sun

Murder

an old farmers sink-
her mind miles away from the
blood in the carpet

back garden soil-
no amount of soap
makes her feel clean

Distance

under summer stars-
in the fading moonlight she
could almost be you

iron skies-
across the piazza
you become the crowd

America

black america
locked inside the golden door
yearning to breathe free

hot city streets-
new seedlings break
through the concrete

Reckoning

vultures overhead-
circling waiting before
feasting on the dead

red skies-
a tempest
at our door

Injustice

drowning each of us
in the blood of our comrades
within sight of shore

tulips blossom-
death takes no heed
upon who’s grave

Alar

soaring red-tailed hawks-

below veiled skies verdant trees

emerge from the mist

between the clouds

and the cut grass-

a wounded crow

Memorial

shadows of small flags-
with a bouquet of flowers
she runs to your grave

mourning doves-
the young man
on the mantle

Awake

my rhododendrons-
robins erupt into song
just before the dawn

the sun rises-
heedless of the
whiskey and beer

Diner

grime covered windows-
watching the rain absently
stirring black coffee

street lights-
shadows of rain
on my paper napkin