apple blossoms

they come in handfuls,
floating through, to ground.

pink floaters like
boaters sailing on winds….. whispering:

she winds her hands and arms
into snaking eights
snsnsnaking sleaking shifting
as if to drag up the wind and make it sing….

apple blossoms never find their way…..
never, ever, find their way back home………
not when the insistent breath of life
has carried them off and
folded up their wings……….


Sky Dancer

Pigeon dipping and diving,
Elegantly pirouetting in summer light.
My heap of metal rolls noisily along,
Overtaking nature’s sky dancer;
What have we become,
We sentient beings with unused wings?
A little sadness and shame in me
Shuffles toward a motionless grave.