A full moon shines its softness

cuts the grey from end of day

brings to mind a time so fine

laughter echoes come to stay

 

the warm their palms at memories fire

then stroke your hair in easy waves

you gently reach to touch my face

gaze with longing at my empty place

 

my presence floats around you dear

wispy warmth which your heart feels

I'm like a flower just out of view, a

scent that waywood winds do seek

 

dear darling close your weary eyes

and rest in easy peaceful sleep

do not let your poor eyes weep

another tear of sorrow

 

I loved you then, Iove you now

I'll love you again tomorrow

 

(July 2002 issue)

 

Between summer's last blast of heat

and autumn's first crunch of leaves

comes the yawning of summer.

 

It is like no other time

so unique is its voice.

Winds of all the earth

prepare for the chilling time.

They play back and forth

in their blowing.

As automatic as train tracks

switching back and forth.

 

Birds seen suddenly in a hurry

for a destination whispered.

With a knowing ear they listen

silence, yet it is there

a keening noise spoken within.

 

Our eyes see the opposite of this,

blind to the change which comes

like a thief. It seems summer

has just taken an immortality,

the form is of fool's gold.

 

Soon the sun will join with the wind,

pale and cool, with wind so lazy

it will blow straight through.

Humanity is lulled by it, its cadence,

are we yawning fools? Listen,

precious ephemeral moments

that say-now now now!

 

(January 2002 issue)