Nature’s youth has surrendered
To sweeps of tears through Evergreens
With irrevocable immortality shielded
By glass-walls of sea and sky.
Left behind is the sound of loneliness
Swaying on Fall-eaten branches
In night-like afternoons.
Evenings of brass aging,
Too soon, into a shadow world
Of naked silhouettes reaching,
Longingly, for your sunny thoughts.
Summer days have long since paled,
Autumn songs are sounding.
The sea, the woods, the hills, the trees
All awaiting the season’s twilight.
Birds journeying far on the horizon,
Only Evergreens are left shining.
Grief, like the bee’s transparent wings
Sheds its cloaking with the sun’s
We are consumers of grace,
A forever renewable greenery
Gardened by a gatekeeping horizon
Opening and closing its borders
Before our dream-bespectacled scrutinization,
Feeding our numbness alternately
with empty words and promises.
The morning is white and
Sinless in its Christening gown.
The sea half-dark in the low
Under the paling February sky
A network of narrow light shafts,
Matronly guarding islands
Like deep green
Sharp Rock-layered cliffs,
Pour, from invisible palms,
Grace over the cupped land.
All stretches out,
Changeable, dim and moody.
A bright-lit swathe of
And an intricate web of bays
Still admitting the inscrutable
Tides of cognition.
A place in the sun
Where birds cross
And cross again on the wind
Breathes your spirit.
A shimmering swathe of
To brush the tears away.
And a voice,
No more than a whispering
Echo of a gentle breeze,
Falls into consciousness
From the farthest margin of our being;
The resting point of oceans,
Moving us, in shining certainty, along
The cluttered existence