storyline

sandhill hill cranes become words upon sandbars 

blue water becomes the spaces between 

dip & dance 

rest & ruffle 

waking to the rising sun becoming golden golden 

transforming the moment into the unexpected 

grey to blue to pink to gold 

white white 

telling an ancient story of migration & adaptation 

remaining 

staying 

true 

birds to words and back again along this bright blue water 

fields golden grain their backstory 

this story timeless 

weaving a narrative of a river morning 

winged adventure primal & perfect 

remaining 

staying 

telling another Spring tale of feathers & weather & wait ....

of wind

recycled words from sorrow's lips
replete with thundersnow & wine
darken the corners of this trip
no trace of trumpet vine
ride the north wind
as long as you dare
lashed tight - eyes closed to the chill
push the luck to the shadowlands
and
fist raised to gravity's spill
flying - always the art of kings
poets & blue
land ye soft upon fields of gold
escape lies north of you

march wind

walls flat-line to ivory sails
winter's ghost trailing
love stories defined in black sharpie
against the azure day
shifting
shifting 
dimensions blending into ripe copper moments
shifting
a single desire to feel your skin against my back
breaking the fall
into
the turning 
the
opening
of
spring
the north wind shifts suddenly to the left of you
at 30 mph
and
I
smell
the river
and all those copperline moments
sparked
&
full
distinctly riding upon the backs of sandhill cranes 

skin to feathers
wind to home 

when all is quiet in late winter

can i not find the words or the woman 

who writes under winter stars? 

barren lies the fields cold the comfort 

no tea served to crows or crocus 

no pause under bare white birch 

as the wind whips up space & forgiveness 

come sun 

come waken the reach the sugarcane wildness 

come woman 

come words 

reach me here wrapped in these melancholy drifts

come.... 

#6698FF

we phoenix a million times
rising rising to face the blue
a blue unnamed by those that name
winds tempered by structures both
real & imagined
matters not this rising
matters not this wind
matters not this obstacle

only the blue 

the wren

of this autumn morning standing
tethered
to ten thousand things
of water & weight
the wren stands feathered
upon the birch silver--shimmering in
its morning waking
waiting upon the wind
waiting upon the sun
to shift its roots to winter's edge
breathing upon the light of this day

waiting on the wind

vokzal

What is it that attracts?
that pulling together of fragments:
moths to flame
hands to hearts
ink to page 
polarized metal
butter to knives 
skin to skin
eyes to the garden of possibility 
tetthered 
to 
aubergine rye-whiskey dreams
the torn edges of leather coats
and
childhood gardens
a myriad of particles collide in recogniton 
something shared 
something desired 
gestures seem innocous
thrown down as carmine on leaves 
and borealis wounds 
a minutiae of fluttered moments hanging breathless
the plethora of pleasure gleamed in the capture 
intellect to intention 
light to shadow
close to open 
wings to weather 

magnectic north 
lies in the curve 
of you