Gleaning street lit night
avenues for wisdom amidst the littered
thoughts and forgotten beliefs
that tumble down midnight sidewalks
with scraps and trash. I
beg the wanderer for her insight
and ask the widow for compassion
searching street lit moments
for my body, something
only starlight reveals.
& yet the moon and her children
are concealed by city light
illuminating instead
the shuffling leftovers of madness

The quiet concrete
filthy with its ignorance
of night sky.

mesmerized and bathing
in birds’ song. They cease and my mind
soars in all directions

beckoned once more
by their flirtatious whistling
free and in love with limited finitude

even the grass soars
in the abyss of quiet thinking, but some song
brings each blade
into its form
and we see each other
hear songs, bow, and meditate
on one another

Standing in liken-strewn
oak branches watching morning steam
from fallen red, brown leaves.
Fog is a sigh as sun
carries its heavy breath away
from dew-stricken meadow grass.
Open palms in communion with
mossy oaken limbs and soles
of feet warm atop dirt I
wish I had a poem to write.
I wish this moment could know
how I feel for it

III

Skin is moss
vibrant on oak bones
Hair is green whisps of
long liken tangled
in sunlight

Digging my feet in I
want to be as still as you, Oak
with roots like yours
and a sturdy gaze
in all seasons

II
Sweet sunset dust
kicks up
in my windscape heart
Spiraling flecks caught
in dusk hues
of winter wind

The following, titled as Roman numerals, are a series of poems I wrote during a solitude retreat in pine-forested, open-meadowed nature. Here is the first one:

I
Wrapped in curtains the
cabin and I are blind
to fields of quiet stars
and darting coyotes
beneath windy oak branches

Hand over the sun I
suddenly see her golden retina
streaming through pine trees
in a crisp, 4 o’clock
january sky

Sun, white gold orb; a pupil
her rays so
apparently perceptive
the forest and I
bask in the shivering grace
of her gaze

Let go
of mastery and
being present.
There are ripples
in every reflection.
Vision remains when
You stop seeing and
just watch

that there is oxygen
in water… You can hear
the breath in the rain
gasp of awe
in each drop and see
the way it illuminates
a willow’s leaves in a moment
of breathless infinity

Breeze never steals
a dance
It comes
with the sweetness of an entire season
and asks,
Willow, Oak, Redwood
May I?
Caught in Autumn
hues, leaves and branches
whisper yeses as
sun sinks to her
mid-afternoon seat

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