tapping the old wood of desire --
under darkness river folds to ice

a lumbering sweep of wing
heron rises --
I turn one more page before sleep

slow steady stitches
on fine linen --
starlight embroiders the night sky

altered photograph by poet

your cotton shirt
pressed against my face --

above us pine needles tap stars

the darkness holds sound

little gifts
dispersed on the night air

sweet cadence . . .