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


spiders
gather stars
from morning dew


objects
in the past are
closer than they appear.


I bend
to belief
despite
my raging
storms


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
comparing
lightsabers


crisp edges

the day bright
sunlit

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
merge
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.


nighttime
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–
color
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