April’s moon is on the wane.
This morning’s sky bled fire
burnt ashes at sunrise –
Not a drop of rain.
The Gate
I walk through the creaking gate
under a pre dawn sky
Ice cracks,
splits still air.
Ducks rise up
over serpentine waters.
Geese gather in v formations.
Every tree
spreads her crown of bare branches.
The sky begins to shiver.
I breath in golden
crystals of New Born Light.
Every morning finds me at the river’s edge in the inky darkness of a pre dawn sky giving thanks for the return of my joy and the gift of living in such a hallowed place.
the eye of the god
An owl swoops
from the cottonwood
to the juniper.
A piercing orange light
peers through
shaggy scrub.
The eye of the god –
-Nature –
singing
up the dawn.
