Oh! bird poised motionless on high,

On wind and wing, a steady pair

That lofts you halfway here to there

And keeps you soaring on the sky.

Do you look up to see the sun

All ringed around with crystal bow?

Or downward here where creatures go

On stouter limb, on earth to run?

Or is your gaze on future set

To know the hour and days ahead?

Or to the past where, it is said,

Lives all of wisdom, all regret?

And when you fly, en masse, as one,

Together, you express the heart,

The greater soul, the soundless art

Of symphony in every tone.

Oh! Would that I could have your view

To aid and complement my own

And see the world as All and One,

As truly old, as freely new.

What Might


The sky is wrapped around us and above,

With wisps of clouds and all that they conceal

Of living light, and mighty, wielding Love,

Whom heart’s appreciation knows as real.

When silent thought is ready to receive,

Then true imagination shall unveil.

As light above the overcast breaks through

The deeply darkened dome of atmosphere,

And warms the waiting waters here below,

Its radiance raises more than what is there,

From greater heights than air and water go,

Revealing deeper depths than might appear.

What Dreams Remain


Where clouds of mountains rim the clearing sky

And rafts of birds above the breakers fly

To trace the waves that rise and sink again.

Another night gives way to daylight’s din.

In tumult of the surf and undertow

Where sea meets sand and can no farther go

Where ranks of waves exhaling on the shore

Turn back to slip beneath the rising roar.

Where brightening colors mark the coming day

And wash the crescent moon and stars away

Dawn drenches all the waking world again

And quells, with sight and sound, what dreams remain.

Harsh air

So cold

It’s hard

To draw

A breath.


But breath,


Is living




Cold words


Like wraiths


The chill.


To linger

‘Round the



A vail.


So real

They make

Us see

What we



Nor could

We draw

Them back





Angry imps


The wind

We sow!


Now, only




Them low.

Snow on Snow

In woods asleep beneath their shrouds

Of snow on snow, on twig and branch

With every stir of wind, new clouds

Of soundless flurries avalanche.

On meadows drifted deep with snow,

Or scoured clear, the wind and sun

Their tandem work in patterns show,

Where deer still browse and rabbits run.

In wetlands toughened by the cold,

The frosts, in glorious crystals edge

Each tuft and pool and clump of mould

To show celestial lineage.

However great Creation’s might,

When outer winter comes to weigh,

We turn our longing toward the light;

The dawning of an inner day.


Ripples come and ripples go

and leave no trace behind.

But waves and larger ocean swells 

run well beyond the wind.

The daily rise and fall of tides 

carve patterns on the sand.

Great monthly marching neap and spring tide 

move whole beaches ’round.

And in the course of eons’ work 

bring mountains to the ground.