Only one morning

Spiderwort
before dawn -
a cluster of buds
waits
for the light:
one flower may waken.

Three petals open,
cut from the summer sky.
Radiant bloom
until midday
when they tire,
fold,
return to the bud.
Green clasps shut;
within, petals melt
to drops of purple.

At nightfall
the sepals enfold
only the memory
of a flower.

Green River

And I watched the green river,
the ageless river
that does not have to justify its existence
but just flows,
and I called:

Green river,
speak to me.
Green river,
teach me
to turn obstacles
into song.
Green river,
sing to me, let
your many voices
take root
in my heart.


Silhouettes
Like dancers,
   the elms lift their arms
     skyward.
The oaks clutch the air
   with gnarled fingers,
bony branches
etched into the pastel evening.

It is time
   to step forward,
uncloaked,
my naked shadow
dancing
on the canvas of the world