Sunday, June 28, 2015


There was no house for me to leave
    my structures...maybe.. and sudden light
Nazca lines on fantasy maps, rabbit tracks
    to caves of ice, a winter's hut
guiding me, the Fates of melting ice
    or fire searing a July day.
The reflected I, a blue shadow dance
    yet there, under that world
        something winged
spinning seeds up through an evening
    perfect each in vertiginous climb
        up, up to my night born stars.


  1. I love the "something winged" especially, and the "night born stars". Beautiful.


willamette writers

willamette writers

Blog Nation Badge

Poets United