A wasp makes swatches of sandpaper air

above the moss-grown rocks.


(Previously published in Existere Magazine, Volume 31, Issue 2, 2012)


In the green summer you were brown
and bristly as a boar,
clinging to the dry stone
with brittle roots.

Now leaves are brown
and grass is pale, bloated with rain
but you light up
green as a Christmas tree
soft as skin
tracing the creases
in the rock
with such tenderness.

(Previously published in Island Writer magazine, Volume 9, Issue 1, Spring 2011)