as tramways awaken to sleepy melodies of a jasper streetcar and branches chant along with winter winds to carols of the blushing earth, blue snowflakes are embraced quietly with a silken veil of early light, finding its home in the rhythm of rivers and lands of midnight eyes. this morning, joy is a subtle scent of old book shops, sighs of a velvet cello nearby, a vase of almonds and soft fruits on the windowsill. a whimsy talk beneath an alley lantern, brimming with wandering shadows and lights. each joy a little world of its own, each joy a little flight-



cloud cellars ripe with snow wine the whole air drinks. in a gentle theatre of shadows, soul roots a meadow, winter warm, its blue flowers sprouting defiant and wild- far into horizon high, brushing the vault from beyond. paths sigh the swans of wanderlight, brook cellos carry an echo of nocturnes to the tea room porch where deep in the fall, soft silhouettes quietly dawn-



ice shadow: towards Moon Trees in shafts of roselight, in fire smoke behind the mirror door. from the benediction of rain a bird of eden recites the bonding of south-west orchards, rooted in what is unbound deep to sky. and if the earth dark is blind, how does the balming ebb find a storm-clad path to the silent of hands shivering with blossom of nestled secrets? softer collision, of soft constellations let flood the pilgrim sand-  scarred yet holding breath of imperfect ground, to live in ascension to the star.


in the miracle of petals you touch the steaming soar of desert snow. as i speak timid candles and books of rose leaves, to above from below. world strangely near, lavish with prayer and dream. and how soft’s the elixir of night harvests when winecup moons melt the argent musk upon oasis lit in holy eagle haze? from the old town of surrender, of ash-pillared streets khamsin’s blue chambers blaze in the infinite of shade, til only the heart naked remains.