Storm Window


mountains of snow
gather on each pane
showing us this storm’s terrain

The Dear Nearness Of The Wilderness


miles of mountains
populated only by trees
as it should be

Dream Land

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in the terrain of dreams
every worm and woodpecker hole
is a passageway to the realm beyond

Up and Across

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each trunk and branch
points the way
no wrong turns
only new paths

Twin Peaks

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the summit
must be heaven
where angels sherpa

Expectation

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across the winter muted terrain
dogwood grew a net of color
with hopes of catching spring

Outcropping

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The granite ledge
makes itself known
by refusing all trees.