One morning in July.

Sometimes (not enough to be romantic)
I still think of you as you were
naked, raw and vulnerable,
transcendant and powerful as the dawn
I remember that I smiled like a child,
and tangled playfully through your trailing raven hair
anything I asked, you would give it
and before you all I had was laid bare.

I think you bore insight
when you told me I don't love you
even if I think you were right,
that doesn't mean I don't wish it weren't true
and I still think with fondness on that time
the warmth of your body pressed to mine
you were the earth, and I was the sky
if only for a moment, one morning in July.

The Full Moon Grinning On The Black Mire at Midnight

Amid blackest light and stillest wind
Between the dells and mountaintops
Towards a vale roads dare not wind
Where gathers water like a pot
And gathers there the scent of rot

Amid the drowning ghosts of giants,
Where the grinning moon has shone
There the site of ancient rites
Where stands a monument of stone
There lies a pile of human bone

Winter Tonic

Wounded I limp through midwinter showers
Autumn leaves from the trees by the winds have all shook
Half-hearted days leave me sullen and dour
And respite in the light is a plight for a rook,
In place is a tonic of formidable power
one part bath, one part book,
And one part long witching hour

Star People

in the quiet moments of the night
those of us who can not--or dare not sleep
turn our eyes to the waking light
and wonder what glorious victory and crushing defeat the day will bring.

For a lady

one day,
ten years from now
you'll look up and be amazed
because you hadn't thought of him.
and ten years after that
he will be but a faint whisper.
and when you find your place
you will realize it wasn't there.
and that the universe gave you a boon
because you survived the pain.

Triple Falls

In the valley under twin horned mountains,
There runs a river through the wooded hills.
And in the woods is a sparkling fountain,
With triple falls, the many pools it fills.

The pools are difficult to find, they say,
Though I my self have seen the furtive falls.
The wisest woodwose might not find the way,
Through myriad paths with flora-bound walls.

Some say Elves will cause the passage to close,
And will wind the way back toward the dells.
They say the way will only welcome those,
With dearest respect to those pristine wells.

In the woods beyond the Little Mountain,
Triple Falls we called the babbling fountain.

Finally, a clear, dry night.

finally, a clear, dry night.
the jack-hammer rains and winter winds
exchanged for lingering, stagnating, solar sidewalk sweat
and although the dottering clouds,
tired after such a gruelling congress,
had ambled begrudgingly away from the hot concrete
to reveal a panoply of glimmering stars;
amid the salmon-coloured haze of the street-lights,
and the slurring chorus of revellers,
no one would pause to consider
such a dazzling spectacle