lone crane

Mistdrifts on the lake, a singing bowlof mystery, pinesangling the rim, breathof September thinningand catchingon the edges of autumn,and on the cuspa crane waits. He seesleaves releasing in mute surrender,revealingforgotten robin beds, feelswarmth retreatingfrom the skin of the earthdown and down intodeep and unshakeable summersunder the world. He standsregal, listeningfor the messenger wind callingwitness to […]