I am filled with a dozen thoughts of you: damp, leaf-green flutterings; a forest mixing motions of one desire-wind. The earth’s flourish shakes my heart and words clatter from my pockets like empty stones. Where are you?
“Riding Alone”
Riding alone in the dark headlights’ cocoon glow casting forward, what transformation can I call forth? Forty years whistling among the pines; now I feel like a pole set in the earth, rain settling me into my self. Any event may stray into this light – it is the season for accidents – but any other road is just another.