He is not as well spoken
as he is written.
Raindrops, wet snowflakes,
and dank woolen mittens.
An unheard spoken word;
broken words spoke instead:
"Heed, hither, lest you catch cold!
Hither, haste!" Down hill on top sled.
(06/20/05)
Under and through the small boulder arc
speckled and stained on its rain-rounded edges
by moss
and
rusted copper gate and frame.
Black cold iron
rod and wire fence
cuts into the courtyard
making corners and walls with a leafy vine.
Stacked and broken
cinder well
hot, stale, soggy air
lurks and lingers at the bottom.
(?/?/05)
cito
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