Poetry Chyme

I hang from gnarled cypress, gripping

jagged cliff along the shore

I need a good squall to tear at my soul

until small pieces of beauty are born

But I wish I were amethyst crystals, copper bells

on golden thread, a pristine melody

tossing word rainbows

sculpted from air, admired by all

hanging from bright autumn oak

on the hill above the swimming hole

where 4 o’clock breezes and gentle rains

set my poet voice to tinkling

Monterey, CA 2007

poem © 2005