there to quiet my spirit
that's what you do
dissolving the sky in wordless wonder
composing canticles
usher the entry
of unspoken moods

a little reading of your movements
unfolds patterns
sad beats

to numb the heart
slow on its walk
refining the journey
to a season's ending prayer

even trees bend low
a deepening surrender

to the slow press of death-
the mulch of dead leaves on
on wet grains of sand

december spells
november blues
rain on my window

unnamed trickles

glazing distant words

on an empty song