Rain/Water

rain falls
in torrents
but the barrel
is never full

the pump handle
is broken
water in the well
has turned
to wine

Red Umbrella

two figures emerge
shrouded in misty haze
strolling the wet boulevard
huddled as one
entwined in the embrace
of gossamer dreams
drifting beneath the canopy
of a red umbrella
dissolving as silhouettes
into the gray timbre
of late afternoon
with secrets only they can share
suspended in transcendent moments
echoing in footfalls
on a sodden satin way
unfolding before them

Enter Autumn

let brown be blown beyond
in frowsy bluster
vanishing into mist
on crisp autumn air

let the wind caress
leaves rustling boughs
pulled awry in
its restless wake

let us gather quietly
clasping hand of another
not bending in fear
or shrouded in silence

let joyous song
sound in season
and time given to make
of what simplicity is

Sextet

softly slowly stealthily
they emerge between trees
in single file
up the incline
moving as phantoms
in shadow
passing as apparition
in dusk's hazy light

nuzzling the ground
wary of every sound
their en-pointe thrusts
pierce white crust
with balletic poise and grace

silent sojourners
part illusion
athwart tree line
blending into edge of night
leaving an impression
of their presence
embedded in
winter's frozen idyll

Unfinished

leave it unfinished
incomplete
fragmented elliptical                  wait              
                                                  let it settle                                              
a blank space                             to the bottom 
where a word                            where movement
might mean more                      is stilled
than the scheme intended          in essence fulfilled

a wandering line
exploring space                         try later
without purpose                        when the muck
direction or design                    lets light penetrate
                                                 the silt
a place for questions                 that obfuscates intention
without answers
or answers                                let it come
without questions                     as it will
                                                 in stilled breath
a frame                                     between sighs 
where an image                        when all is settled
might appear                             and time
                                                 does not await
while you ponder                     a premature conclusion
scheme and dream
of what may come
if imagination is left
to its own devices