Eve

Birdsong.
I sense my body
rise and fall, open eyes
to leaf-framed sky, wonder
what these hands are for.

A name rings through
the dappled light. Together
we stroll the perfect paths.
Fruit drops.  We find
what mouths are for.

Days drift towards nights.
We learn to sleep.  Awake
we ponder the fan-shaped tree.
I want more than the garden,
need to know what I am. 

Alone one time I bend down 
a branch, grasp shiny globe.  
My face peers out from its ruby skin.  
The apple rises
from my empty hand.

	Published in 100 Words

Thomas Distillation

I was young
as the grass.
   Time let me climb
	apple trees.
   I was happy
singing in the sun.
Golden I sang
   	to the hills and
   pebbles of streams.
And playing
under stars the moon
   blessed the horses. 
  	The sky gathered
   the simple light
and honored
new made clouds
   	over and over.
   I ran and nothing
would take me
up to the moon
   nor hear me
   	dying.

	Published in Great River Review

Pioneer Resort

I fall awake--
moonlight on my breasts
and summer’s breeze sifting
through white curtains.
I am young. I am old.

I am a fish gliding
through sparkling waters,
jumping as the hook bites,
gasping on the rough dock,
struggling to breathe air.

I am the fisher coming home.
Shining on my finger
one tiny ridged scale clings--
an immaculate shell.
Night softens everything.

I lean against the window screen,
inhale the pines’ perfume,
see myself rise slowly
to swim silver moonlight
upwards to the stars.

	Published in Free Verse