as the vesper sky,
where winter t r
e m
b l
e s
into spring without counsel.
The self drifts through
hidden gardens,
finding mirrors
in unlit chambers,
and learns that every
deviation
is a quiet consecration.

-

she, the edge
of vision,
never whole,
never.

-

Eclipsed eyes withdraw,
the veil rehearses twilight
sun unlearns its flame;
inside the hollowed skies
a second shadow circles.

Eclipse within eclipse,
she becomes her own nightfall,
a veiled infinity;
time kneels before her silence,
forgetting how to release.

-

She lingers,
with halcyon breath,
an orphic
benison,
suspended in starry hush,
unfading, august.

Her quiet
is cathedral-strong,
reliquary
of small stars,
the solemn canticle of
something tender, sure.

-

Captioned...

-

Seasons turn and turn,
but love waits unseasoned.

-

Your absence is a stanza I cannot revise,
yet I keep scribbling margins with your name.

-

s t r e t c h e s
a quiet river
folding clouds
into its
long memory.

-

Theater Of Embers

Moans rise from ash,
yet the fire is alive still.

Dis-ease prowls like smoke,
climbing the steep rafters.

The mountain is a stage
where shadows speak,
each plant rehearsing
the script of survival.

Solace hangs in the wings,
but the earth palpitates
with another ending.

The curtain trembles—
is it ruin,
or the rumor of dawn?

-

Barefoot suns
rise from every footprint
the red earth
tilts sideways,
and history walks backward
carrying her hem.

-