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These Now In The Field (Poem)
a tree prone with roots exposed
the fist of the storm closed round it
no bird perches there
vines of deep scarlet growing tall
the earth throws its veins above ground
no squirrel makes a path here
fallen buds form delicate lattices
mold blackens them with deadly grace
no insect disturbs them
portents of change no longer imminent
the clock strike now upon us
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Hurricane (Poem)
we saw the sky darken
ominous hues of purple and black
bruises on wounded flesh
we heard the wind rise
balefully lashing mountain and field
striations of bloody destruction
we did not understand
we did not know
we did not believe
now we mourn
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Stillness Within Movement (Poem)
rain pummels hard the roof
wind throws branches against the walls
creek rushes down the street
darkness hits with an audible thud
leaves aged for nineteen years
rest inside a celadon cup
a swirl of hot water poured and then
in a few moments, tea
