Tree House

out of nowhere 
one mourning 
dove alighting, 

foraging, finding 
twig after twig 
on the carpet 

of bunched up needles, 
picking just what it needs 
for the finishing 

touches to its twiggy home
artfully hidden somewhere
in the no longer lonesome pine. 

Smuggler's Cove

floating 

in a secluded shallow 
sea of jade, 

listening
deeply

to the myriad 
pebbles tinkling, a few 

jeweled fathoms under me. 

Empty Rhetoric's Catastrophe

Apostrophic yes— 
And never failing 

To omit whatever’s left 
Of your dwindling devices, 

You end up vomiting 
The whole works. 

Inland Marina

No ordinary tree for us love but the drift 

wood craft we assembled for Christmas 
past and awaiting to rise 
phoenix-like for Christmas future 

lies presently moored in cob 
webs in corner of portico 
affording a splendiferous 

view of mountains floating 
in a deep blue sky in the balmiest calms 
of summer gifts we hope never run dry. 

Coaxing the Gentle Reader to Reveal Himself with Sweet Nothings

Not croaking, 
Sticking it out 

Silently, something 
Like a stoic 

Frog immobile, almost 
Imperceptibly moving now

And then to trap οne more 
Gullible fly at the end

Of a too, too gooey tongue.