Injustice thrives in silence
god never died;
was never alive.
except in human hearts
where the embers glow
and crackle upon
gentle pressure
to warm a biting
winter morning
where the lake stands
still, awaiting spring
so it may sway and churn
to let us know it
teems with life
each droplet
falls from sky to soil
divergent paths
converge to nourish the loam
where the ever-yearning shoots
of an uncertain spring stretch out
to bid the world a hearty
hello.
verdant landscape
beams in
naïve optimism
each year choosing
to forget the sun,
swollen with untempered power;
supple stems stiffen
involuntary camouflage
against once-moist soil
now nature’s adobe
stacked
to the horizon, and
pining for an autumn sunrise
Fire marches,
the fissures glow
within wood
as if the long-dead tree
hums with latent energy
seeking release
at once, in a thousand places.
Float, spring butterfly
breathe deep warm winds, swelling up,
lifting you sunward
The sandy atoll,
a thousand leagues
from a weak, tenuous somewhere
barren, where even scrub-grass
dares not open a new franchise
and all a man, shipwrecked,
has for company
is his own mortality
Beyond knee-high grass
onward to the Laughing Tree
dancing with joyful
autumn colors, ablaze, even
though few ever came to watch
