New moon: (moon)

Pale crescent in aqua clarity summer sky: (sow)

First quarter, cloud-wracked: (feed)

Full: (dance   rage   bask   weep)

Last quarter: (make peace; reap)



Oh, Annigan, Annigan, why do you chase

Wear yourself thin searching

For that elixir meaningless


(Love. Doom. Repeat)



I have washed them all

Sent them on their way

Twelve moons this year

And each one slips on stumbling rocks

Worn down by constant tides

Tired so very tired


My mother of the wolf-moon

We ate berries but yesterday

We reach back for the cold shore

It slides away in darkness

Autumn Again

The sun waxes and wanes

and in bright moments

the bugs are limned in frenzy

In these snatches of light

they weave-work

their recurring mystery


The wind blows harder today

romping through russet crowns

Damp curling leaves

collect in corners in droves

Droning, the bees are still at it

driven to and from their nest

outside my window


Could we but rest and soak in

the gleam-shot wind-tossed

fleeting beauty

but it’s imprinted on our instincts

this hurrying harvest