March 3, 2015

cold silver

yesterday’s rice spoon

in the gutter


near field communication

October 8, 2012

a magpie
takes wing
greyscale rainbow


in autumn
the sound of blue


falling backwards
through you
I try to remember


cobalt cuts
my line of vision
horizon’s blade


the weight
of beginning…
salmon run


vena amoris
my heart lurches


waning moon


the square root
of always
never is


the magnitude
of the conceit
snow-laden branches


in a corner
all the angles
lead to longing


( week65 at )

“Don’t think: look!” Ludwig Wittgenstein from ‘Philosophical Investigations’.

I hear Satie

The sun’s rays
through rain
a dragonfly hovers.

Clouds caress the sun
chimes smile
in the shade.

Growing awareness
the shade
of a fir tree.

The scent of cuckoo flowers
in April
I check my watch.

Whispering pines
chimes fall silent
and listen.

Crickets in the brush
I scratch yesterday’s
mosquito bites.

Ignoring the syllables
I count the number
of incense sticks.

Fresh contrails
my daughter pulls hard
on the kite strings.

White-winged moth
dirty wallpaper
full moon.

Full moon glare
the white noise
of a burning moth.

Dipping leaves in a
moving stream I look up
to a still sky.

Skimming stones across a dry riverbed…

Light fades
the last piano note