Wednesday, March 25, 2015


light fading
at the tunnel’s end
I slip away
down the fluted passage
inside a singing reed

to open the clear wings
of music
I breathe into my flute
a flight of butterflies

the murmur 
of wind-turned leaves
before a storm—
the soft cry of a mourning dove
echoes in my flute

~Skylark 2:2, Winter 2014

No comments:

Post a Comment