on creating

everything fades in time, you know
how all was black before your birth
and after—you have nothing else to go on
clinging to every look and gesture
winding yourself into being

*

not every spark ends in a sun
transcendent, though
your hand is on the work
indelible

National Poetry Month is ended, but I still have pages in my Yes-Words journal…

Woodland Theme

silent beneath the trees, green
and brown, purple, yellow
and green again bright as sun-gleam

vines trailing last year’s wisdom
in leathered leaves and new
shoots of upright quivering

possibility, periwinkle stars open
or coiled for some tomorrow
no one sees but me

and you

 

NaPoWriMo Day 18. Off-prompt after a sun-filled, flowering weekend.

Cocoon

in a box wrapped
tight with expectations
reiterations
of still darkness
(and then I opened
another window)

street gray-misting
scarlet-tipped trees
all neighbors
behind these fences
(and then I opened
another window)

to cloud-strewn
only-sky blue
(and then I opened)