It’s said that one alone don’t make a Summer

but when there’s none at all, is that when Summer’s gone?

And when there’s nothing up there but a shimmer

of dust from the desert superheated by the sun;

and when the sheds and barns remain in silence

from April to October; when radiance that shone 

on midge-full fields no longer flicks on mindless 

scything wings and sideslippings ...

Read and leave comments (2)

Sometimes, inspiration and imagination have strange effects.

De Jeune

Swallows dive, swoon

like wind-swayed ink drops

down, and beyond the light:

swallowed by the sky,

flown blue, over

road-birds – honed

by simple flight.

Like arrows in Canada

in thunderhead afternoons:

clouds rolling, rutting hinds

in migration, pounding sand-trails,

Read and leave comments (0)