One lake, one wave, one drop—one grain, one more
ripple in the sand on a beach, one beach,
one shore—one path, one stair, one step, one board,
one nail in the grain—one blade, one cluster
of dune-borne grass, one passage—one cottage,
one porch, one chair under shadow of an
eave—one breeze, one heat, one sun—one day, one
morning, one hour, one thought in the mind of
a soul, in his living, in his being,
in his life—one sky, one current, one breath.
—first published in Waymark: Voices of the Valley
Asymmetric chandeliers instigate
their rhapsodic drop, the ruddling scumble-
trove of falling leaves and epiphanies
whose sillage shellacs paw, pelt, and breezes.
Trapezes sling these acrobatic hues
into bold arcs, risky spins, pronounced turns
before alights the wind-borne troupe of the
trees. Stippled bark akin to camo backs
the show, and cursive limbs announce the new
season: caesura ending summer’s song.
—first published in Escape into Life