Tangerine Sin – A Poem

I begin. Blue
single translucent.
Marginal drifts coalesce. Over

Speak. Don’t speak
our tangerine sin

Church rots from the
inside. Leaves shadowing
failed stone on the hill. Overgrown.

Summer touches your
lips. Revealed
under lunar paper parasols.

Weighted nature. A pocketed
of the universe
we dropped
into the lilac. A name. Bruised.
Falls in upon itself.

Soft anger erupts. Swirling.
Vacant beyond your reach.

Our lives sheltered in
green. Aged. Bend
under the wind.


A Canticle of Low Origin – A Poem

A mystery.
Torn into opposing directions.

The feel of her smile.
The knife blade not quite
sharp enough.
Clippings which
provide a more detailed

How stripped bare her humanity
spilled into rivulets
under the gathered clouds reflecting a red sun
Geese flew in the sky as
the forest darkened.

Reports say that spring is now in
That love has been distilled.
There is so little for concern.

I mark how her elbow bends
in the last of autumn’s
fallen leaves
and hum a canticle of low origin.