free spirit untold unnamed unheard no claim to knowing being known
free spirit
Poetry
Where We Meet
where we meet
tops of trees
sway in a breeze
birds fly
the blue sky
at our feet
be what may
like yesterday
Due North
home is set square
storm clouds blow due north
carrying all that is untethered
to unplanned locations
while we remain
drenched in the sweat of
heaven’s labor
crepuscule with wind vane
Clematis on the Hill
There’s a lady, a pretty lady, she doesn’t care.
She doesn’t like people to stare
so she lives on a hill in the middle of nowhere.
We Are Who We Are
Fire in Heaven
The Fire in Heaven cooks up a fine feast.
Flowers face the brilliance that reveals me and makes a mirror of Earth.
The first tulip and some early strawberries and me.
Ladies of Spring
The ducks and geese have come, flapping wings and ducking heads
while bees buzz in the blooms of the ladies of spring.
The first bloom of spring.
Winter Green
The garden grows beneath a layer of summer gone.
I combed dry leaves and branches
from parsley, asparagus, iris and lily leaves, green and crisp
and pulled on roots of grass and peppermint, to restrain them.
parsley in the kitchen box
the day waits
the day waits for the truth
for the sun to burnish what is real
for lines to define more than possibilities
for more than hope
Misty morning on Paris Mountain
the evidence
those who prefer to remain unobserved
still have to be who they are
even when unusual circumstances
reveal where they’re going and where they’ve been
