The Vision

She wore a wreath

of silver green,

pressed amid

her chestnut curls.

 

Her satin slip

draped underneath,

her velvet dress

adorned with pearls.

 

Blessedly unenlightened

by her soothing spirit,

her vision floats

without a care.

 

A simple nudge,

she blows a kiss,

it brushes my cheek,

yet it’s barely there.

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Wampanoag

Tiptoeing up and down

swollen dunes,

in silent contrast

to the crushing surf.

 

Weaving a path

for many moons,

with paint and feathers

through tender grass.

 

Fire Circle Dances

of drum and song,

then white men came

and they were gone.  

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Haiku

Froth on sun-bleached sand

abundant swells rise like yeast,

uninterrupted.

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