morning bales

The year has turned from rampant growth

of green, climbing flowerburst and seedset,


from tangle of tendrilled vines, fruiting slowly,

slower than warm eggs in nests already empty,


from riot of crowded, clouded meadow,

meeting deep hedges, birdfull and singing


and the fresh cool beneath the trees, first frogs

plopping from muddy banks and celandines,


the flow has ebbed from foaming froth to dead calm,

the year receding, neatly baled and wrapped,


and we plant parasols, play with planchas, peeling,

burning sweaty red, and think the best is yet to come.


Leaf falls

Photo © Mihael Simonič


I watch a leaf tremble,

Plucked by the breeze,

Drift and turn.

The distance from bough to earth, a season,


And in that instant,

Between sky and earth,

You turn and leave.

Leaf turns in the breeze, drifts,

And in falling, the world changes

From fiery gold to ashes.