Monday, September 17, 2012


Do you sleep
buried beneath
the forgotten dream-

longing to emerge
from the shadows
of the morning light?


Constant State

Parched by the sun
Blown by the winds
Forgotten by the snow

The field grass always returns
to its constant state

Tuesday, September 11, 2012


Looking to the oncoming night
for my reflection.

Am I neither the bell,
nor the ring?

Neither the eye,
nor the sight?

Neither the lung,
nor the breath?

Startled by the sound of a deer
bolting through the field beside me

Remind me,
For what I was searching?