The most delicate of feet landed like imagination
onto her open face, impossible lacework resting
just for a moment before darting back to the sky.
An oil slick needle piercing the afternoon.

from the poem, Daylily Daydreams

The mountain rose,
shook his foundation,
and greeted the day
with a tip of his
cloud-form hat.

What will you hold
he asked the sunrise.
What will you will
he asked the wind.

from the poem, He Asked the Sunrise

In a forgotten park
at the edge of a city
we’ve all heard of,
a maple tree grows.
At the very top,
closest to the sky,
is a leaf that plans
the coming autumn.

from the poem, The Leaf That Plans the Autumn