
a tree’s last blossom
seems to wait til no one
is looking to drop.
what a thing it must be
to see a holdout yield.

a tree’s last blossom
seems to wait til no one
is looking to drop.
what a thing it must be
to see a holdout yield.

a daytime half moon,
feeble compared to at night,
yet I stop to look.

I don’t mind one crow,
on a rail or curb,
by its lonesome.
Nor am I troubled by
a large number of the birds.
(The group designation “murder,”
notwithstanding.)
But where two or three
are gathered, facing
each other…
That’s when I get the
heebie-jeebies.

an egret peers
into the lake, past
surface reflections?
When early morning sunlight warms
The vibrant lakeside greenery,
All of those cave-like lakeside trails
turn psychedelic scenery.
The leaves become so translucent
Butterfly and bee silhouettes
Stretch out at distorted angles --
Beasts beyond being caught with nets.
Despite being sober and fresh
The mind reels or seeks to reset.

budding limbs:
vibrant growth unseen from
the city beyond.

swamphens strut
at water’s edge, and
i’m a farmboy again.