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