In black cherry time

This is what happens as soon as I stop walking, my daily habit: I become habitat.

rain crow

when did the back of my hand  turn strange?

this dream of endless mountains

Why is it this year that the familiar warbler songs sound like dripping blood or fabric being torn?

Where did it come from, this premonition that someday I will be parted from my head?

spring azure
with my cellphone camera
stalking the sky

alone in the forest  her green shawl

a drop of rain for each  newborn leaf

red appendages  born-again maple

the angels didn’t fall  they were pushed

one garlic head’s  green tongue

a face pressed against  the train window