Her Black Eyes Misting

i am yawning

my eyes crease

and water

in a spate of gasps

still i climb

following her

haunting scent

the clockwork cedes

our blueing light

cold hands clasp

a warming cup

a cupped cheek

a rosy breast

then her black

bitter eyes

blink at me, misting

november visits

ill moods

frosting chill

dying trees

rotted leaves

manifest in slanting light

slowly spun

windward from the sun

five months spring

rounding fresh

glacially

we throw off

our tatty clothes

our failed

melancholy hopes–

our greedy

fusing

bodies

in soaring heat

stoking fire

to ride out

mighty winter

~e

Becoming Mist

a great irish wolfhound

jogged along the trail

its mistress tethered

in a stylish track suit

people climbed stairs

to nowhere

while off to the side

lay the true path

in a bed of colourful leaves

neath an arching footbridge

mossy stones were strewn

randomly

small rapids led

to a glorious waterfall

wind from above

gathered moisture

became mist

swept down on those below

wetting cheeks

like tears

~e

Apple Thieves

swirling leaves

apple thieves

pumpkins carved

witches gnarled

pumpkin pie

chestnuts fly

ghosts about

shelling out

parents rake

grammas bake

morning frost

daylight lost

hockey game

logs aflame

thanksgiving feast

migrating geese

grey cup champs

embers dance

coloured trees

steeping tea

winter threatens

armchair beckons

suntan fades

santa claus parade

snow tires on

a later dawn

windshield scraped

apples baked

harvest moon

cold and flu

scarves and mitts

candles lit

poppies pinned

biting wind

trumpet plays

vets parade

~e