At last the sun
breaks free of the gray cover,
leaving a glaucous sheen
on the horizon.
Two eagles,
inspired by the wind,
spiral around each other
in their amorous dance.

The leaves are bruised and gnarled
by the turning down of the light,
and we are slapped silly by wind and rain.
The onset of the dark time,
cyclical, explicable, relentless,
despised or welcomed.

seem to writhe on the beach
where a southerly flung them ashore.
In the fading light
their golden brown lengths
twist around each other
like an ancient Celtic design.

It was the angel in the clouds,
the face on the tree,
the driftwood and rock
that looked like a seal, a wolf, a bear.

Predawn, the song sparrow
sings his traditional ballad.
It is the leitmotif
of my life.

I am a temporary life form
Here on the third place out
I try to keep fed and to keep warm.

Two girls
in a grocery store
took turns weighing their heads
on a scale.

I am threadbare, worn and weary,
tired,
spent, with the cost of understanding.

The moon is hidden behind the thick grey
but I know it is fully round and ripe up there.
I launch my dinghy and row out into the darkness
sighting my course by a big grey stump of a