They did not
erupt from burnt umber fungal earth
it’s as if
legendary giants hurled titanic marbles
spackled by mosses
striated by crystalline quartz-contacts
glistening in the light
sheltering hirsute ursine
fast upon
the children’s field of play.


If heaven is an alpine tundra
peopled by stone cairns
and spider webs
catch dreams–
what an aperature
The Sun has
in November’s falling-of-the-leaves.
glimpses green
only in lichens and mosses,
which are many.
ochre and cerulean dominate pastures of erratics
halved by quartz
calved by centuries of wind and rain.
in the cold pain of it all,
all I really want to do
is to sit down in this prairie grass
and wonder


The textured toad
is boisterous with color
and erupts with topography
as it twists and crumples itself
small into a crevice of moss–folded, accordion style
earthbound, erstwhile, indifferent to winter
awaiting thaw when moss inflates,
shirking shards of ice
the toad too balloons, begins to budge,
though sluggish with cold blood rising
hearing robins, moved to hop,
the toad holds no grudge for the sun.


Life is the Curve of the Earth
The arc of a life
swells like a planet
visible as a star
every now and then
it bows like a branch
laden with late winter snow
and it ends somewhere un-for-told
a pot of gold promised at the end of a rainbow.
The curve is the arc of a boomerang returning.


The source of oppression
is a glacier in meltdown.
The river of oppression
as the glacier
And then it pools, and there is nothing glacial
about it.
The waters of oppression
press against eons old foundations
and seep earthward
imploding the essence of our


Perscription Kickstand
Nothing like
a dose of grief
to kickstart a life.
You can unfurl
like a fiddlehead (fern),
spiral downward, and in…
clench like a nautilus (shell);
kickstand, standing still.


What gives an animal
The vibrancy between the earthbound
and the ethereal?
cloaked in Shine?
It comes from the Sun
It all comes from the Sun
‘Joie de vivre’
happens between
Terra Firma and El Sol.


The Orange Ever-After
in the orange ever-after
dwelling on death
El Sol
happily hikes
the hillside,
rising here
making the orange ever-after
tulip trees and tangled oaks
a fire steeped in leaves
in the orange ever-after.
No wonder the snake
is copper-headed
like a penny,
here, in the orange ever-after.
A fox a -glow
his winter coat a shimmering clementine,
black stockings astride
brilliant here,
in the orange ever-after.
Suspended in the status-quo
an ant in amber
Others seep through the sap, not succumbing,
oozing instead into the
orange ever-after.
We climb with all the world’s intentions,
but for now we dwell
in the orange ever-after.


This is
the raw
umber amber
of November’s
ember; Earth.