Paris Morning

Somewhere past the cafe
whispering airs
above the coffee machines
floating on the scents of lemons
waiting without sight
on the fragrance
of rain washed cobblestones
clear light smiles
moving through artists.

Places

Birds do not sing into silence:
the grasses sing into the winds,
as Mistletoe rustles on the leaf-rattling
brown Oak, whose leaves whirl and click
swirling down beside the long lane,
where birds find seeds and small things.

Wheels turn circling great wheels.
So no bird sings into silence.

Openings

Love needs no introduction to begin,
as seeds lie silent waiting for the sun.
A light that lingers in the eye is all
for flowering unfolds each petal slow.

Passage

Slip silver sadness glistens like frost
gathered crystal by crystal point
delicate as lace and as old.

Quick metal hardness shims into place
garnering the leverage for the tilt
gradual as the sliding shadows on the moon.

Night withered blossoms wait on curved stems
weighted with blooming done past
patient as stones in a cave waiting for sunrise.