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Blinking

with the morning sun, threading

through the arching grasses

is that a giggle

... kitty?

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Stars -

it's too much

... stars in the frost!

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Its time spent

it calls, the scent

... she falls.

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Things most sweet:
the glee of little bees
... hawthorn blossoms.

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She sits
at the center of magic
... but of course.

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(Inspired by Kristin Manson at Flickr)

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Gorge of honey
of cream, musk of jasmine -
bewitching dream.

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Shh ... trees whisper
smitten with chorus snared
in the long standing pauses.

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The mute of rapture -
her unspeakable name
in the silver night.

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She dances bare
meek fruits awash in moonlight
rain and serendipity.

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