When He had on the third day seen as far as bent the waters green the endless upend, wave and roar the changedness of trough and tor and having perfect in His hand at length the Maker vasted land. – – – – – Petra M. Greening, pexelsRead more "Day Three"
That bird’s reflection seems to wave and wing from other worlds a ripple fold of ancient hope and crystaled good (though far away)Read more "Reflections"
Just across the grave-gray pond a thousand sliver boats of light bear, like messengers, their glint and gleam to us. A whisper—faint— from far across where park lamps throw their starbled shine while shadows close the farther shore in darkening blue and gray.Read more "Effulgence"
They skip by tripping over water extending beaks like legs in dance, then twirling upward on the windsea borne along till touch again – They twist in wind gusts, dip in wave troughs beaks catch darts of silver sleeks. freespin breezeward, riding wing sails. Sky swirl dancers of the seaRead more "Feather Step"
I reach for grace like stretching for a cup of water in the heat that seems too far away. – My fingers seem at best to scratch the back of worn and weathered hands that hold the drink I crave – My mind. Practical. like sluffing off a test I know I cannot ace. Should […]Read more "I Reach for Grace"
Dare I stretch my foot to you? Or, why not call a slave? – Lingering—your hands upon my feet— I feel the trickle lick of water. Kneeling? Here for me? Every eye is gazing years at me. With strokes like gentle, soft and strong I feel you wash the silch away, Surprising me how white […]Read more "As I Have Done"
I wonder if that frog thinks the world is just a fevered dream inside his pond… – or does his mirror reflect, in green- translucent shine, the way creation always meant to be?Read more "Frog"
Tonight we cross the waters black as coal. We row beneath the stars we blotted out. The only sound—the sloshing of the waves, relentless echoes of the knife-like pain. We row alone like exiles in the dark. And now you speak who know my troubles best. You feel with me the wounds that plague my […]Read more "A Night of Rowing"
It rushes down the mountain: a cataract of sound a spray of mist and shade-light a roaring, silence round. – I pick my steps on slick-stones, a cat afraid of glass, to plunge my head beneath it and feel it—surging past – I feel the flecking wet sparks I step onto the ledge, but find […]Read more "A Severe Delight"
Pink tree painted like a splash against the sky, grey cloud glowring overhead. Sad stream teardrops striking from the sky green washed willow by the pond. – Fiddlers scatter in the skittle of the rain tall grass bowing to the breeze. Marsh walk lifted like a piece of wooden foam billion pinpricks pattering. – Lamplight […]Read more "A Lowcountry Occasion"