Tuesday, May 8, 2018


by shifting winds
a crow
with white-barred wings . . .
my yearning for omens

who am I
to lose what little 
faith I ever had . . .
the redbird still sings 
in the apple tree

leaf shadows
shimmer and pulse
on an orb web
shining in morning light—
the clerestory of my mind

she flees
along a silken thread
to lie hidden
in the curve of a leaf,
whoever wove this world

the song
of  blade on whetstone
as the meadow 
falls to the scythe . . .
nunc dimittis

~Skylark 6:1, summer 2018

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