french horns
green the ambience . . .
forest light

a fox hunkers down 
by the river

the silence
a little deeper
in the flow

cicada cries intensify
along the fault

imago
left within our selves
not our stars

like the face now
worn smooth away
from an ancient coin

from the bathroom mirror
a moment's self-effacement

the come-down
from the razor’s edge
snowmelt

dripping the excess many
when just the one will do

under the streetlight  
even the crows have
high cholesterol

Hansha Teki
Clayton Beach