Winter song

west hedge october morning mist

Blue as the veils
of flute and clarinet
this cold sky

washed clear
singing with the bells of winter
yellow-feathered

the rhythm called
by hoofbeat
and the woodpecker’s cry

misted pearl
the snorting breath
of russet running things

my hands clap
to the crisp crack of leaves
beneath my tread.

The wind blows

The wind blew and blows still,
showering the field with golden leaves,
moaning like a lost train in the unlit dark.

Stove hums in flame tongue,
incensed with wood smoke,
where cats curl.

We talk in soft voices,
unwilling to disturb the humming, flame-tongued air
or the music of the stars.

Eggshell blue

 

1200px-August_2010_CME_SDO_Multi-Wavelength

 

blue as the shell of a bird’s egg

curved smoother than pebbles

in a riverbed

 

untroubled by clouds

watersmoke

redolent of ocean spray

 

sky arcs

an eggbubble

protective casing

 

stretches above about behind

and beyond is the black

the deep and the dark

 

where cats’ eyes of stars

stare blandly at the bird’s egg blue shell

silent as an empty nest.

Another element

1024px-The_Sun

Many fingered like the sea

a heaving mass beneath the coping of the sky

sopping up the clarity with spongy paws

 

it wrings sweat from the veiled air

puddled in vague yellow unclear green

dripping dry and crisp beneath the tread

 

this heat slows the workings of the world

like syrup in the wheels and cogs

silencing even the irritable crows.