In the Natural World

In winter / The sky plays background for graceful limbs

Sometimes I play a game when I read poetry, trying to decide how much of the poem is about the poet’s own life. Of course, poetry is a form that often carries the feelings, if not the facts, of its creator’s life. I will save you the conjecture here, though. This poem is a description […]

Up from the shore of Lake Vasona /

A stately Eucalytus tree,

November morn dawns cold / A slivered moon hangs like an icicle in a thin blue sky