Winter walks
Birds capered along winter walk
A thin pole held few bricks half in air
Bitter glare soaked a wall of somber cracks
A pale hair of rolling cycle swung passing his corner
Faint cases lit up slowly on the sheer glass
Bubble foam blurred pot water with her thick coat stilled belo w the floor
Black keys flew over the hard suit’s papers in the ever echo of their rings
Whose bleak trails of all months fell in a few late whispers
And the very days stirred their palm cuts
Dank mizzle crept by a path of needle snails
There in the dark creek’s dirt the bamboo fragments stranded beneath the ripples
Where beyond the heavy willows a water tower of decades’ stone halted in gale
Endlessly the crowd traced the stops
Powdery lights of evening traffic strung through the bus’s steam panes
Which blossomed as fireworks at the stark crossing
That tranced my sight
memory feather
petals flip about strolling steps
april waft dapples maple walks
cloudlets ripple far in azure
memory feather trails forever wind
The Rockies Trip: Highway 93
As a headlight of tri-lamp spotted the reflected mess, diving into the moment split, the freights were bedded on the bark barrier. In vague copse the dusky, parallel lines deposited, where the wild was plowed in layers. At intervals the late sky undulated with the brook-shaved snow brim, while the sleeper stole among the tunnels.
Pine steep tilted high, bare peak teared above, tiny curb paled below. A flood of ice fragmented the glaucous creek into a cubist relief. Over a flat distance, the soapsuds poured down the ridge.
While the dim car idled in the rhythmic quiver, the hard shoulder swelled ahead. There a firm bin of forest green bared with gravel. The fearsome palms failed to break the bear-proof garbage can in the guide’s tale. Then, the vast serenity flaked the leaves away.
