Twitter poems

a glint in the eye
of the bird who flies–
he knows where he is
though we lose sight
of his wings

buzzard circling
I check
my pulse

gather stars
from morning dew

in the past are
closer than they appear.

I bend
to belief
my raging

The moon let itself in
but stayed in a box
on the floor.

the sun can only stand
to look at us
for so long each day

old friends
found again
this library
of typeset souls
page after page

grown men

crisp edges

the day bright

soon folded
in the cedar chest
of memory

warm december
waiting for the world
to bloom at christmas

running fingers
through forever
carved in stone

all their faces
bend toward each other
as I stare back
through the tunnel of time

bare tree
filled with
starling leaves
it sheds upward
in one great burst

The vibration of waves
crashing on the shore
reaches us here
at mid-continent–
fluttering grass.

when I dream
and sometimes cease to be–
uncharted journey
into morning

I judge myself
by my reflection
and get it all backwards

on the bank of the Yangtze
in thick fog
nothing to photograph
yet I remember
like a snapshot

I saw all my yesterdays
rush into the woods
I follow them, lifting leaf
after leaf to find
only this moment

a poetry
of broken words
lacerates my tongue

vulture’s red head–
in the winter wood

the most broken
people think
they aren’t

a dance
between memory
and imagination–
they trip over
each other’s feet

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