moss-covered limbs break the water's surface, unmoved by the flow.
Unbudged [Haiku]
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among detritus,
an arm breaches the surface:
not waving / not drowning.


The mountain
was so long ago.
Yet, I feel its pulse
throbbing under foot --
into my ever-loving sole.
[You thought I was going to say:
"everlasting soul," didn't you?
Do you think my soles
inconsequential in comparison
to my soul?]
Nothing is firmer or finer
than the point at which
I touch (& know) the earth,
than the point which
presses the real,
and, thus, by which I have
evidence that I live.
[The ghost feels nothing in its soles --
if such a being exists.]
These lowly old soles connect me
to all that is, was, and ever shall be.

in stone mosaics,
nature’s hand is more artful
than the artist’s.

a deer walks,
making less sound than
most squirrels.

a heron surveys
the gently flowing river
with great patience.