a fallow field lies
dormant waiting for the plough
to peel back its truth
haiku
the last leaf
tenuous threads bind
to the dancing wind reaper
his whims will cut loose
fledglings
it’s the not knowing
yet they grew stronger than our
crystal ball of fears
so shadows fall
for Mark, our brother…
the moon throws softer
shadows when the glare of light
moves beyond our reach
past
what has gone stands here
still, and too our withered air
when we have flown
autumn
autumn quietly
slips between the sheets, soughing
our ruminant thoughts
comrade trump
fat baby porker
defiled snout raking the dirt
fattened for the kill
