• Poetry
  • Sum


    As in January waking finds a snow

    That whispers for the wintr’ing seeds to grow.



    Like a rolling mist that turns to frost

    But’s gone tomorrow;


    Little gained, or lost.

  • Poetry
  • The Scenic Route

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    The scenic route, for budding leaves

    Collecting static light

    From muddy pools, and talk disclosing

    Only veiled sight.


    The long way ’round, past angel stations

    Past the barrow next,

    Then homeward turning at the cross

    To find some earthly rest.


    Homeward! To that last enclave,

    That attic wilderness.