we had stones and bones to mark the time, moons scratched on the doorpost counting months until birth until harvest, counting lean months until planting and none of it shifted but the ebb and flow of generations swirling the tide, burying the bones –ancestors and descendants of place lapping at the granite edges of…
the dew comes before the stars cloying my clothes and damping the grass as i pull the season’s growing from the paths, clear the ponds of roots and stem for autumn rain. a new crescent rides the fading sky and mist is breathing the valleys – under my feet the soil cools, singing the song…
the year breathes. inhales in first breath of the trees, stoma new opened by the song of birds longing for light. it breathes, gulps morning lungfuls of sea mist and krill dreams, exhaling mountains air warm and fragrant and humming exoskeleton with uncounted translucent wings soft through the hill grass tossing up estuary sand…