Spring Wind Sonnet 


Spring wind rushes south,
a restless and riotous hunter, 
twigs and branches snap in its mouth,
food for a burn pile’s hunger.

The ravisher writes in white, 
tears apart clouds.  A bowl of whipped sky
spills and snuffs out moonlight.
Chimes circle in the dark, fingers ply

stories written on book pages,
howls to feel face, hair and skin,
probes the fabric of ages, 
gusts outside through and in.

After three days of yowl and blow, 
silence falls with late snow.  





Night


The black cat climbs to the top of the silo,
peers over the farm
and his frightened shadow runs away.
He retreats back down, 
chases and stalks it
along the edge of the field
into the woods.
He climbs up a tree,
extends his claws
and rakes the fields.
Where black cat strikes, 
night bleeds on emerald. 
Sun retreats behind the hill.
All that’s left
is dim and featureless,
waiting for dark to feast. 





white horse 

​
the white horse is an original,
a free-thinker in a herd
of milk cows and brown work horses,
he stands out in a swarm of flies.

a line of cows 
hoof to the barn, 
the team of work horses
do-wop out to pasture.  

horse tails slap swat and flick
at house flies
green bottle noses
and pesky stingers. 

flies pester the beasts,
horses tails swish and shoo fly,
flies buzz and bite.
horses snort their distaste.  

the white horse ignites
a small tornado,
rolls on his back
covers in sand 

kicks legs in the air
then jumps upright 
brown and fly proof.
when the dirt wears thin,
he dust dances again.  

no copy cat horse
stops, drops and rolls
with the white horse.  
the others twitch ears,
snort, shake and shoo flies 
with their switching tails, 
they jig and jump
a two step on the farm
partnered by flies. ​