for so many days it was dry - unusual... just now i felt rain
the slugs climb the stairs they seek ephemeral things and taste the gray stones
other people watch but that really means nothing one makes one's choices
sand and rocks here, there on the ground and in my shoes rocks and sand teach, wait
the bird battles dawn with its vociferous squawks but the sun will win
no words can stop it that slow succession of days demarcating time
Across the inlet there's this sprawling driftwood stump that looks like a moose.
The morning was clear at five AM, but now, a low-lying fog came. The rough trees' branches reach down, tasting air, nonchalant. Two fat ravens perch, on the dock's rail. The mist clears, shifting things.
No wind blows at all: the broad ripples bare their souls to the weedy sea.
twilight to twilight you'd think sleeping difficult but it's just brighter
slate colored summer drapes water over the hills and conceals the sun
No. I have never attempted to understand the plans of eagles.
The air is thick like damaged feelings - the morning's seen better mornings - like the water was angry at the unhappy trees, but at last gave up, yielding to those persistent rooster crows.
simple flat gray sky, trees as columns holding it, heaven's heavy dome.
events long planned for occur, always unannounced, so they seem random
no right angles here scraps of found lumber and steel embedded in rocks
The sky defines space... the trees' sinuous branches make their subtractions.
tiny insects float almost like wingbearing dust; what are they feeling?
sunlight like sunset's, pinking and golding the trees, but at five A.M.
Not a single word... no paragraphs, nor ideas... just pale nothingness.