Shade

late sun at our backs
walking the path before us-
intertwined shadows

passing time-
in the corners
collecting shadows

Eyes

the burning red orb
casts its gaze about the land
hard and unblinking

ragweed-
my eyes swollen
and gritty

Descent

as the sun goes down-
I turn the final pages
of this well worn book

a ashen moon-
mist descends
upon the moors

Driving

the ragtop put down
bare feet up on the dashboard
red hair in the wind

pacific coast highway-
california dreamin’
on the radio

Volcano

bottles of cognac
cast upon volcanic rock
a gift to pele

catharsis-
rivers of fire
run to the sea

Puddles

a rippling sky
cast in all directions by
a child’s rubber boots

parting clouds-
blue jays bathe
in tiny ponds

Fog

sand hill cranes glide through
frost smoke on a mountain lake
as the day begins

coming ashore-
fog blankets
the lighthouse

Birds

her worn threadbare coat-
piles of bread crumbs spread between
the bird lady’s feet

a park bench-
sparrows land
on my shoulder

Ballerina

tiny ballet shoes-
waiting for the curtain in
crinoline and lace

sunday afternoon-
long hours
at the barre

Dead

the village emptied
bodies lay unburied with
no one left to mourn

tumbleweeds-
sun scoured bones
picked clean