WINTER’S PROSE TOO
Tattered and battered charcoal-gray wintered limbs reach and wiggle for the warmth of the sun; through a silver-gray winters pall; winters old and wintering in the yard.
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THE WANE
The wood is boldly lit by a western sun
Sting chants a Desert Rose
Few leaves remain, clinging to branches
Water pools in low land
Reflecting clear sky
By rotting umber foliage
The planet rotates
As the light does evanesce
A sombre mood ensconces
The wood darkly
ATMOSPHAERA VARIARE
A silver-gray pall has again draped over the peninsula; casting deeply and moodily the impression of tropical depression. Commuters sluice their wary ways through the juicy film clinging to the surfaces of the avenues. Pellets of precipitation rattle heavily on the skylight overhead. The birds are silent, while the shiny wet leaves of the verdant canopy of the wood waggle to the tune of variable breezes.
GIVING RISE
Infinite green leaves burst over night
From buds that formerly held tight
Generous new life sprung into spring
A southern breeze; branches swing
Angled axis solar spasm
Induction protoplasm
