Eight Poems

Between Root and Sky

No, not more snow-just petals from a
     Windblown
blackthorn settling in the wet ruts of the
     lane.

Lichen

At all frontiers;
over the tundra;
above the treeline
where only the granite crops,

their blue-green frost
holds hard,
subdues bare stone,
battens on sour soil.

These are the pioneers,
mapping new ground,
flourishing their shields,
...