Soft fog of light

soft fog of light
and tree sense

mist uncurls
and forms again

a branch in
grey silver
seems to die

moon sets
uncurling

unseen

my heart

in the fresh snap
of pine

forms again

Another poem inspired by the enigmatic Loch Voil in Scotland.

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Gift of Water

Here’s one I’m working on. I’m not sure I’m yet happy with it- maybe it rambles a little. But I felt like sharing it. Feel free to give your feedback- anything work for you? Anything didn’t? Thank you.

A little girl
curls her fist
around moonlight

her blonde hair
flashes against
midnight
brown
eyes
like lightning.

I think of her as
the first star
of rain
splashes the
pavement.

I hear the next
fall
and imagine
the sea
from where it came.

Moonlight
touches the waves
and appears
to be caught,
milky in dark water,

as if grace
could be held.

I wonder where
the girl is now,
what she holds
in her fist.

I make a cup
with my hands
and the rain
is cool in my palms.

Lightning
cuts through midnight
and an echo
brightens
the water.

I wait,
hands cupped
to catch a glimmer

of a gift from her
maybe moonlight,
maybe grace.

Travelling

I left my
shoes in Milwaukie
a scarf
in Sudan

in London
I discovered
a prawn allergy
and in Paris
I ate five
croissants.

I am now on a bus
hurtling through
fields
it could be England
and it could be Illinois

field and sky

I bought shoes
and a scarf
and vegetarian lunch
before boarding

Does it matter
where I am going?

field and sky

me

don’t have
names
anyway.

Insight

There is a slow opening
a fragrance startling
eyebrows lifted
a simple truth
in a chaos of leaves
one golden flower
hidden by tangles.

Bramble-scratched
and shivering we
were led by its
fragrance to find
a bloom more
precious than
a baby’s first breath
a gold ring slipped
over a finger or
the spring, and the first
strong ray of sun
higher and sweeter
than any other.