Bulbs of smoke drip thru the ceiling
When the weather starts to fly
The hard decision, cup of coffee won't decide
When it's time
To let the outside in
Rain the echo back across the roiling foam of bed
A painting full of pasts
That grows unmapped
And wild again
In his unruliness
Subtle swans might circle round
And tempt you to the door
Brambles there, and berries might surround you
In elemental lore
It populates these days
In solid wood, the trail's no good
And earthen sounds escape
The clutch of wan, uncoupled borders
Breaking on the wave
The crude designs of restless minds
Unearth an awe-gust rite
The chimney dies a sigh of make-believing
The gales of summertime
A paperskin, a silhouette, a place of old grey light
Has trees for claws
And birds that fall to phantoms
When they fly
And a voice
Precipitates the name