8 June 2013

Once-a-year cherry blooms blot the paths in Spring shadows. No weighty midsummer dapples here, just treesful of vernal eclipses. Looking up, one pink blossom would fit just the “O” of my mouth. I could swallow them all and bring back the sun.

June 18, 2012

It was my lucky day. New beach grass darted, herring-bright, before the wind by the Highland Light. The swan wings’ turbine rush whistles white on the darkling dusk. Shooting star, path – oh, oh, oh, Look! – long enough for you to wish on half-a-skies twinkling dust.