Ephemerae, Volume 1C, November 2018

aspen grove
he fills his pockets
with pirate gold


a spider web
strummed by soft breezes . . .
we can
almost hear the song
of morning dew

Ephemerae, Volume 1B, August 2018

a torn web
the wind carries
father home


desert trail
sun-bleached bones
at the end

Ephemerae, Volume 1A, April 2018

the thin edge
between night and day
wild poppies


travel hostel
we unpack a pair
of ladybirds


Passage

I kneel
upon frost-rimed grass,
a song
nestled in the church
of my cupped hands

we are kin
to birds of passage
wintering
in far-flung places,
never quite at home