Angels

As the naked rocks gather in the night
A summer mason chisels the blackest, the smoothest,
Into Angels.

Burning golden in the sea

A sultry hum from a mountain sea,
A bleached sun rocking in shore-bound currents.
On the marshy bank a black swan is looking,
Meditatively, at its own shivering reflection,
Ashen wings burning golden in the sea
Like a fallen angel encountering its honesty.

Seeping through the shadowland

The soft sigh of the willows
Seep through the shadowland
Where weeping ferrymen
Steer their canoes through morning dew.
Wild ducks, with sea salted wings,
Migrate through dawn
Shedding golden leaves like syrup fingers
Attaching their palms to the ground.
Cuts in the night sky deepen and
Bleed honey onto the horizon
Herding nightbirds and dreaming children
Back home.

The evenings are soft in June

The evenings are soft in June.
Blue and pink mist rippling through
Sleepless lilac-scented nights.
The silvery shadows of seabirds
Gliding over a quiet carpet of sea.
Contours are blurred, but never dissolved.
Even at midnight you can hear
the eerie cry of terns hunting low in the sky.
Dreams can be waved freely from
Sail-less ship masts on evenings like this,
Even if you find yourself in the middle
Of a port-less sea.