which of our ancestors did it - traded wings for thumbs burdened us with possessions fed us to the uncompromising earth…

liquid blue nightgown made of lighter fare floats in romance of autumn air a ballerina in an erotic dance longing to join that v-trail in th…

it was always said that of all the people on the Island I loved life the best I who had the least but I had all I needed

Early morning mist Loon fishing quiet water Shining wake behind

I saw their faces as clearly as if… on their stones beneath their name… heard their voices in the trees whose roots go deep into their dus… and into the dust of this Island

In the universe Of winking stars is there one Who also wonders?

surf and turf of St. Andrews olde salts and bullshit under one blue tarp gossip thick as molasses sparks quick as match-lit gas

the silence of colour palette of fall reflected on water white birch trees granite rocks

see them standing in glass houses clutching stones of fear anxiety suits and shoes boots and jeans makeup and hair powdered and perfumed

summer is ending following the rolling sun quite without remorse

wind tangled trees coiling across a yellow moon spiraling leaves surf-curled dunes

little lies, seeds of thyme shallow-rooted, often sewn cover the largest stone yet a tree springs from a single seed

a cold moon filters down through the purple asters no explorers have returned with caterpillar robes and dandelion gold

I’ve known rivers swift currents set free escaping to the brine of the ocean and on to exotic places I’ll never be