Saturday, October 25, 2014

A few grains of salt

A few grains of salt, a dash of memory;
here are my bones, here what I meant to be;
flowered so well, as rivers would stones;
grave is my halt, and listen without;
to laughter, the cry left of me.

Friday, October 24, 2014

Canvas 456

Canvas 456

October 24, 2014

Chance meetings

If he seems a little ugly, with his features out of place,
yet heed the pity in his face for the like of you,
blessed with beauty as you are, and waste
that soon may be the blight of you,
when by your greed and haste,
you are justly framed
by every trace
of light on

Thursday, October 23, 2014

Canvas 455

Canvas 455

October 23, 2014


Fragments, yet whole; sea-lights,
burning, now bright, now obscured by the mist;
worlds, turning, youthful, yet old; thus sent,
here-tossed, we see each face
in our own; now whose,
then, is this?

Wednesday, October 22, 2014

Canvas 454

Canvas 454

October 22, 2014


From a quiet wet-black street, cast by a city lamp,
a reflection, as if the cause of clouds,
would pause, and speak,
of heaven.

Tuesday, October 21, 2014

Here is a door

Here is a door. Or, rather, four letters. A word.
The word opens. Light enters. A cloud. A storm. A bird.

The bird bears a message. Or, rather, the message bears her.
Four letters, four doors, four storms, four birds.

Forever. And on. Infinite doors. Letters.
Clouds. Storms. Messages. Birds.

No hands. No knobs. No frames. No walls.
Only doors. Infinite words.

Light enters. Where was it before?
No one has mentioned the dark.

No night. No veil. No blinds.
Once were. Then are.

No time. See how they fly.
Dark enters. Light. Light, as a word.

Monday, October 20, 2014

Canvas 453

Canvas 453

October 20, 2014

Upon a stream

Whence this scene, a blessing of your mind,
yet lived in, acted upon, admired, by other minds?

Whence this leaf, upon a stream,
soon departed, which remains?

And before you say, “old-fashioned,”
whither, save in kind, will ever, be the same.

Sunday, October 19, 2014

Canvas 452

Canvas 452

October 19, 2014

The words you utter

How the words you utter, utter you.

How they grow, then ripen, on the vine.

How they color, and fall, when it’s time.

How bright, the birds, come to dine.

How blue, how clear, the sky.

How flight, is true, by design.

How love, makes you, from your mind.

Saturday, October 18, 2014

Canvas 451

Canvas 451

October 18, 2014

Canvas 450

Canvas 450

October 18, 2014

The ghost of a chance

In the old family album, comes that turn in the dance,
where you, are the ghost, of a chance. By her wings, in his glance,
just as we find them — do you see what you couldn’t,
now that they can’t?

Thursday, October 16, 2014

The perfect place

The perfect place, a cedar jewel box
for a grave; a thousand ways forgotten, save
the one that stays; a leaf that speaks for autumn;
sinks deep, the pin, the blood,
to spring.