in spite of weeds

in my backyard
a rose bush thrives
despite the thistle
i have neglected to pull
and the waste that i have
yet to nip off

a rising day meets
slumbering buds still wet
with night’s dew
and though it is early
pink petals unfurl
eager for the heat
of radiant touch

she brings me dragonflies

she comes to me
with wide eyes
wonder-full
and arms outstretched

I have a gift for you
something I found

her delicate hands lift
the amber insect
in a small glass jar

perfectly intact
vellum wings
awkwardly drawn
under its body

sorting clouds

morning came soft
on the summit of restless
sleep and elusive
visions

a conundrum of clouds
crowding the peaks
of Bogus Basin
in dits and dahs

decoding dreams
in blushes of apricot
and touches of plum
something gold is rising
... --- -- . - .... .. -. --. --. --- .-.. -.. .. ... .-. .. ... .. -. --.

blame it on the rain

A cloudburst sweeps
fog from the river,
tinseling the fading day.

Warm drops puddle in cupped
leaves, running rivulets
down her upswept limbs
to pool in her roots.

She waltzes with the wind
a while, then turns
a tango with the tide.

You cannot fault the moon
for reflecting his pleasure
when clouds open and light
falls on a laughing tree.

road to the river

In the rising mist, trees
are bodies bound by distance.

The muffled mirth of water
wrapping stones draws my step
from rutted paths to seek
seclusion pillowed in moss.

Mine are the only feet to mark
beside the tracks of whitetail
to follow along a willowed bank.

Hidden in the fold of grounded
clouds, filtered sunlight glosses
tips of rockripples and hands
reach out to hold the glow.