The villa of Petrarch sits on a hill Above the rapids tumbling through the rocks. It's ruins now--the broken stones are clocks That tick...

The lavender fields are dotted with white boxes squat as houses. In his mesh veil, smoker handy, hands gloved, he slowly removes the...

Cicada There is, I know, some benefit in this, this cycle of emerging, breeding, dying- so brief a time for knowing any bliss, or making...

The first true norther came today, With raging gusts of wind and rain, And blew the Summer heat away, And with it all of passion’s pain....

Truth has no need for empty praise By those attired in scholar’s garb, So keenly with the microscopes And scalpels of their intellects...

A pin oak grips its leaves, long turned to brown And hanging against the frosts and deepening chill, Into December still it holds them on...

When Horae’s icy sheets blanket the dale And branches shed their frozen tears, When Earth is covered with her icy veil, We mortals run...

If you see an ant go marching In his regimented pack, Brittle, beady body arching With that leaf upon his back, Let him be, don’t dare...

... Among the shadows of the groaning elms, amid the darkening oaks, we fled ourselves ... ... Once there were paths that led to coracles...

November sings in minor chords, in broken light, in maimèd rites, and brings her own ghost rewards to forgotten and forgetful men alike,...

In the deep of the night do my restless thoughts roam To the moon-flooded fields of the sky, And they search for a pure and ethereal...

The sun rose slowly o'er the hill. My cold, dark night with light did fill. Alone did stand a single pine, Where once you sang me songs...

When torrid Summer’s greenery, Its vibrant hues and spiced perfume Lie far, fast-fading memory, Your flowers bloom. When all the world...

My Muse, the gift of God and memory, Is silent, doesn’t always speak to me With her crepe myrtle lips or skipping feet That dance out...

A traveler hailed from antique lands of light, She wafted in on eddies made of air; Exotic gifts from far flung lands to bear Upon my...

My soul clings to the dust. Ps. 119.25 How like the dust my soul can be. I see it sometimes, dazed and inattentive in a ray of light, or...

Helen, bright accompaniment, accouterment of war as sure as all the polished swords of princes groomed to lie in mausoleums all eternity...

Night past night, down the endless starry river; We watch for any change, but do not see The tiny metaphor that is to be The lightning...

Through the peace of balmy spring, Bird-songs’ trills and breeze-tossed leaves, An alien sound, a distant ring Dares to break the mirth...

Long before the first eyes ever saw me Floating like a ghost upon the night, Long before human minds even feebly Pierced beyond their...