Erosion

The soil of the city is in mourning –
                            – No light –
since industry claimed sod
to be in competition with progress.

Many stones have since been laid
on the humbled back of the earth.
                            Us traveling,
with footfalls slapping pavement.

                            Where is the field –
The brush of grass
against bare feet and ankles –
We have covered the world in hard sorrow.

The Firstborn Of All Creation

a tanka series

His summer sun writes
With golden pens across land
Laying ink shadows
Waiting to be deciphered
In the moonlit mind of men

His autumnal crown
Ring of fire lines earth’s brow
Then vanishing flame
Deposited reminders
As in primal garden’s shame

His winter worn cloak
In stars as pristine garments
Drape stone-like statues
Temporary catacombs
Assembled solemnity

His Easter feast sprung
Poetry of rhymed rhythm
Symphonic return
Seals broken—life awoken
In the open palms of leaves