Your Interests About

A golden tide of maple leafs
cascade from the trees,
swept by a November wind.
Branches, stripped bare,
twist and wave, pummeled by a breeze.
Falls eternal desecration, of Summer beauty,
readies the land for Winters coming.

May I borrow your name
for just a moment?
I'll give it back,
with only the corners
slightly bent
from too much usage.
I love your name
and the way
it seems to fit
into my vocabulary.

Living gives me pleasure,
just to be alive and
smell the freshness of morning,
as the rising sun
brings forth moisture into dew.

Arm in arm, hands intertwined,
strolling through the woods.
Talking, touching, seeing you,
with windswept hair.
Dragging feet, through piles
of gold, fallen from the trees.
The still, fresh crisp of Autumns
night nips our noses and cheeks.
Frost pockets, stay in the darkest shade
where the Sun never reaches.
Threads of ice from water splashed,
cling to banks and branches,
while rocks and stones, become encrusted,
with coats of crystal glass.
Lay your head down on my arm
and make my chest your pillow.
Close your eyes and listen love,
to words, soft, warm and mellow.

River, clearing as the rain subsides,
all the brown grass, of winter
are now thick with frost.

The Sun shining, warming me
through my heavy coat,
as the crisp air attacks,
fingers and toes.

Casting across the slow moving
waters, watching the lure
splash and disappear,
feeling the irregular bumps of
lead along the bottom,
waiting for that uncertain
touch of the elusive fish.

Reeling in and seeing ice
built up in the ferrules.
The sound of a cock peasant,
the drumming of wings, carrying
him to safety.

The river smells like the
ocean.
Tiring, I return to the car
and so ends the quiet alone,
of this New Year morning.

I feel the cold crispness of winter
inside my nose.
Up above, the low hung clouds
reflect the pinkish, orange light
from a hundred street lamps,
marking the boundary way
of the street.
Cars speed by, swirling wind,
about me.
The warmth of my breath
puffs billowy, rhythmically,
as I exhale.
The pounding of my feet,
and occasional dog barking
at my passing, are the only
sounds I hear.
I try not think of the
distant point I'm running to
for if I look and see, it might distract me
from the concentration, that I need,
to attain by goal,
to finish.

Day passes into night,
sliding ever gently,
into darkness

The Olympic Range cuts through the sky
like an unsharpened saw.
Jagged, snow covered edges, tears the
blue velvet sky,
as sunlight's reflection blinds a curious eye.

She
stands alone
with hands all clenched,
into fists.
Nails dug into flesh,
as tears course down her cheeks
and thinks of him,
now gone,
away from her,
forever.