Observer

I have found a daylit
Moon over an olive 
Tree, or did it find me?
Former means peace,
As does the latter, so
I guess it doesn't matter.

At This Latitude

Earth and I turn
East 800 miles per hour.
The least wave breaks
In crests of
Wildflowers, mountains,
Years, now, yesterday.
Tomorrow we feel
Churning stars
Refill the furrow
Of our keel.

Up

This summer,
Morning glory
Got up a privet
To give it 
Color where only
Green was.
I don't always approve
Of what the garden
Does, but I like this.

Night School

One may dream

A player
Paved for Hamlet's
Ghost, declaim
Over old silence
Or marmoreal balloon
Drummed in heartbeats
Escaping skyward,
But I woke because the
Moon made too
Much noise.

Gerridae

A magnetic field
Across gravity, time
Revealed in embryo--
Had eyes, saw,
Worked its raw way
Into light, direction--
Water-strider remains,
Lingers over its own
Reflection, attached, all
Fingers, to what is known.

Cosmos As A Verb

Looking upward, drawn
From earth, enthralled,
Driven, nourished in rain,
In cloudy light, this flower,
Cosmos, senses no
Separation from our star,
Soil, our sky --neither
I suppose should I.

You, Peace

Command myself not
To stare --rare people.
Rarities with quiet in them--
Unsudden surprise,
Like littoralis inland or
Dream remembered-- I like those.
Something seen when they look,
Eyelashes open a
Private whisper of the world.
When they look up, a weightless
Smile --a sunlit cloud
Caught thinking.
Is it ocean or wind
In trees one hears?
Such people, the
Difference disappears.