for lack of

these hands, showing age,
display no tokens of love,
pull weeds from the dirt.

scummy little stream

a minute, a moment

gulls cut a pure arc
grey mist clings in tangled hair
cold front coming in


before chance

footprints in wet snow
caught by the wind! sudden calm
scent of grass lingers


Illusion Conclusion

horizon shimmers
illusions rise in the heat
sharp tears, starry eyes