Callous

as it carves an arc
the scythe knows not of the grass
or cares of its fate

autumn wind
swirling oak leaves
carried aloft

Perspective

patiently waiting
the river of time seems to
slow to a trickle

mayflies
in the pond
a snapping turtle

Perspective

spying Earth from space
a hard reminder of our
insignificance

a sand grain
amidst the
multitude

Return

the clinking of ice
he signals the bartender
for just one more drink

false dawn
an owl returning
to it’s nest

Morning

concentric ripples
spreading across the surface
of a misty lake

lakeshore
a striped bass
breaks the surface

Daydreaming

the spinning wheel turns
fingers idly making thread
while the mind wanders

adrift
on a sea
of imagination

details

the weathered old man
makes peace with the universe
tending his bonsai

fiddlehead ferns-
seeking god in
the golden ratio

Direction

faintly glowing stars
the ancient light a missive
from the distant past

a moonless night
our path defined
by starlight

Muffled

shouting at the void
trying to keep the silence
from smothering me

rain falls
on a carpet
of autumn leaves

Peace

the wellspring of souls
beckons inexorably
for us to return

the bodisattfa
compassionately
delays nirvana