Of The Waters

Over paths in the silver hill grass,

the falcon towers,

the sun moves through your light

to cradle in the vast lake.

I waded to my chest

as the bronze sky changes to water,

the sun left a threaded necklace

in the ashes of our linen.

You bind light to the vine of the waters,

white grapes shine like topaz

in the ewer of a book,

we cathedral glass poems in the sun.

Over Sorrel Creek

The mountain exposed

a face of shining quartz

in the winds on the ridgeline.

The clear water sounds

the coming of thunder

into the empty

and I am the same mind.

Trees ember at the peak,

we spark fire

from the sky in your hand.