they are small streams nowthat cut these deep valleys –rock slip moist mosswhere light can hardly touchbut here shaftbeam drift lightthrough tall trees and airhung with water dropletsand spore,touching bracket or fern leafor foot. small streams nowthat roar with the raintumbling debris,hanging upriver grassin the trees with the floodline. small streams thatspeak gentle overrock shelvesstill…
the clouds hardly gathered the pinking horizon before the geese began to shout the sky – claiming what’s theirs and theirs and his and ours and i know on a red rock ledge above a cave in a deep water valley the female waits silent on careful nest listening for life in the warmth of…