After days trying

I remember that soft note

When I first whistled

I’m derivative

Connected to everything

But original

Haiku seem hasty

Just seventeen syllables

But simply enough

Perfectly fulgent

Ready lips of the iris

Lavish with pollen

There was such silence

The moth's flight was a tempest

My breathing the gale

From archaic seas

Sculpted by wind and water

Symmetry revealed

 Hard-bound by ages

This wood will never kindle

Or be hewn by hand

Dreamt of Bob Dylan

He said Like A Rolling Stone

Is a limerick

What use for solace

When we have failed the children

Woe is not enough

Where is our conscience

What do we hold as decent

Children want to know

School of innocents

All of them are agonized

Nineteen won't come home

 As for thoughts and prayers

They won't redress the losses

Of blameless children

Quiet monument

No pharaoh's tomb is grander

Or more sanctified

Steadfast wings of stone

Shaped by the wind's constant hand

Earthbound forever

I just stopped myself

I was reaching for the app

That names the heavens

Our impermanence

Beyond the intimate stars

Vast beyond vastness

A storm is honest

Not doubtful or beguiling

Pure in its fury

The Meteor

With brilliant effect

It surrendered to the earth

Burning in its fall

In a ceaseless gale

Four careless crows find their play

Gliding above me

The forest is parched

Deprived of quickening rain

It can only wait

Scrupulous poets

Gather our misplaced moments

Forgotten in haste

My mother wore pins

Of places traveled - things loved

Life on her lapel 

Surely a good trail

Best travelled in the morning

When elk leave their tracks

First there's a shadow

Soundlessly across the trail

The hawk soars away

It has been watching

Its haunches coiled and ready

The cougar lunges

In a time prior

Before we said "It is mine"

No need for a fence

After the wind storm

There is quiescence at dawn

A fine day ahead

The wind says nothing

It has no body - no voice

But the forest howls

 

                                                          

Rodin

The hands that touched this

Could bring life to the formless

La sculpture au Coeur

  Frondescent pear tree 

Burgeons in a spring lyric

"I am beautiful"

Are there shared stories?

Narratives we all embrace

Can they still be found?

Eternal flowers

  The joy when they bud and bloom

Then to seed again

A lightless cavern

Roosted for a thousand years

A primeval bird

As moon is to sun 

He brightens at her pleasure

Trusting in her light

William Shakespeare

We all have the words

To portray the human sphere

He chose the finest

 All this is borrowed

The sunlight - water - my breath

How can I repay?

 

I’m not from here

I’m born of melting snow

From alpine meadows

 

Dark skies in Flagstaff

We’ll leave the lights off for you

To let blackness shine

This is a fine trail

With the afternoon ahead 

There’s time to wander

 

The organ grinders

Fill the market with their songs

Paris on Sunday

 

Lacing the new grass

There is no softer lantern

Than the sun of May