Walking Poems

Twilight

Cascades as a sea

Grey-blue darkening to blue-black

Reds and purples gasp

at the sun swallowing horizon’s edge

the trees become grey scaled

forming evening-jet geometries

in this verge of darkness,

the night-still-quiet,

I walk

Walking Poem, Late March

The horizon is lead heavy white grays of sky touching the wet green everywhere.

Cold abrades and traps with the wind snares among the trees.

Not quite ice/rain drops percuss on the earth.

Then you breath in the rain heavy air tasting, the birth of Spring.