the contrasting sky,
its blue to white
behind the green,
as a bird, wings tight,
arrows by
to be traffic with
the fairies, grey,
as Earthly whisper rolls
amongst us & All.
and, stilled, we follow
as so prone to do.
Posts published in “Poems”
and, yet, you know not
this poet, he,
who cannot see
but uses words
as imagery,
unseen,
as
wisdom leaves
but markings of what is,
what be.
play, ye, mongst the
tops o’ trees,
as free, you be
from them & me.
wash in puddle,
fall of
stream, as
ruffled, clean, you be
much more than them & me.
play, as you be fair
in group
or solitair’
black
bird shakes,
as feathers twitch
& sway from
movements made
to clean, to
freshen’ be.
of all the times
here, i be, Cardinal,
Red, shows flight
to me, and yet they
be not the only
singer carried/carrying these.
veins, indented, these
valleys, streams,
shadow-crevices
of the body,
fingers–
the knucks,
so use to
use,
but given depth,
the
warmth of nothing,
the cool breath of
stretch.
the ease of which
these eyes
fall to be but
twisted, sided,
lends itself
a serenity of
twicesight
as choice
be ‘lone decision,
left,
but
right..
i hurry the poor
faucet
so my body may
drown a tad
quicker
than if
let go
at rate
so comforting.
what of eyes when
crossed, when
given choice
of sides
as if to say
both, neither,
same.
the high, nasal sweet
caress of the yellow/white
honey nest
and you walk, chris, as though
someone calls you– yet, you do not
run– in steady crawl, you follow to
be as leader with others stampeding by
the leaves of lengthened
limbs shiver in the
temperate breeze
a’brushing by
the grey fairies
rush as
shower’d stars,
unaffected by this
looker, onward moving
between their field
above the asphalt,
glittering