you are long dead,
but my sorrow lives

from a distance, in the fog,
i see the gauzy shadows of trees
and as i walk closer
their lines become more defined,
darker,
brighter,
more substantial–
coming in for a better look,
reaching to touch a crinkled leaf,
resting my forehead on the damp trunk
i take a breath of cold morning air
and watch the geese land on the water

There are times when I want to burn images into my eyes. I want to save them in a secret golden box of visual memories for a time when I am perhaps very old, or perhaps very sick or perhaps very sad and blind to the beauty that remains constant in the composition of leaves and skies and foggy mountain horizons.

diamonds in the sun

The art that I see on the trunk of a tree
on the face of the sky
in the way the geese fly
on the feathers of crows
and the way the wind blows–
soothes my unsettled senses

reflections of the past
of the future
of the undisclosed
and indisposed
of all that you wanted
and all that you lost
of all that was honest
and all that was not