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formal poetry

Aftertaste

He never even noticed anymore
the “finish” of the wine, the tang of the salt,
the sweetness of the sugared petit four,

The Cycle

Dark water, underground, Beneath the rock and clay, Beneath the roots of trees, Moved into common day, Rose from a mossy mound In mist that sun could seize. The fine rain coiled in a cloud Turned by revolving air Far from that colder source Where el [...]

Time Out

It took that pause to make him realize
The mountain he was climbing had the slant
As of a book held up before his eyes

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