On dragon wings by night
between book covers
flying through the silence
of empty pages

Unknown Ruins of Spring

Fading back into the spring-version
of grey, this
muted brightness, most brilliant dust
of the sun airing out reeds
and goose feathers in warm breeze
growing green into blue
white receding
clouds framing the afternoon moon
in stories those around me
never read, never will know
stories and cyphers and the grey
and the green and the ruins
of a foreign sky

Trees

The ghosts of trees
climbing mountains,
sighing, yawning
falling asleep in river beds