As/Is







11.14.2003



somewhere past
the grey hills
we settle down
for a long and

peaceful night
the crane with
his eye dreams
atop a spire I

breathe spaces
bright ascents
lucid an aerie
drone as shine

lonely badgers
steal our soul
from the soils
and roots burn

floodlit barns
line the roads
dust and horse
whose hooves a

rose leaf mind
of late fall's
air unbinds us
from cold oaks