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

someone tries to capture a moment in the surging sea

make sense of grey white and a distant dark

they are beautiful

just empty and whole

indelible prints of sky

latched on a landscape

speaking secrets

in every soul

deferring a hold on gratitude

awakening longheld stories

nearer the sea,

falling snow forming chords

reading songs of yesterday's evening rain

they mark the paces taken

having to leave footprints behind

by the grass where we let dreams hide