Sweet Sprig

sweet sprig of
youth’s gentle flower
more alive than now

angel’s timorous image
is hardly contained in
spring’s emerging hour

Should You Pass This Way

should you pass
this way
all would seem
as it was
when time could be
taken to wonder
wishes had no limits
and dreams
found a place
to dwell beyond fear
the source
of all things
soft gentle and supple

Of Origins

who knows
we may
be distantly
one of same
though neither would claim
same to be
so

of boundary
we abut
yet do
not touch
each savored share
unaware

we nudge
perhaps nuzzle
just to
befuddle
the muddle
where edge
meets notch

but parts
do not
fit to
join a
whole

The Mill

warm sleepless nights
walking the tracks
past the place
where sweat poured tears
down backs bent
to tasks like
bad habits unbroken
totting lives counted down
in heavy hours
punched on cards
clocking routine in
systematic rounds
through dust heat
and musky peat
rising off logs
curing in brine
to be rolled on
lathes slicing transparent pulp
ribbon-thin like skin
stacked in layers
awaiting the dryer
pressing essence out of life
into crisp slateboard slats
recording memory
in simple steps
frozen in stasis
for those who passed
points of no return
without recourse
choice or escape
from the place
where poignancy rings
in echoes from voices
of a thousand sons

Shadow

as he goes
his shadow falls
ahead of him

to the side
and back as
if his will

commands its place
near then aslant
forward side to

side as patterns
in a dance
the couple glides

arm in arm
embracing rhythms woven
in their stride

around and around
returning again as
one within two

the shadow seems
to say ‘without
a past there

is no presence