Within, upon

Within a thousand shining/smiling days, your rays find way to lay upon air, upon cloud-less sky of eyes in ‘guise, fallen-razed along ‘rizon’s edge, stretched-stretching ‘yond the view of you.

i have no goals

i have no goals,
                       merely
              fallen logs
                             not yet fashioned into bridges.

Though made of holly bush

Though made of holly bush a maze may be
     — with tower’d slopes on leaves haze’d green,
          and darken’d nests of space laid seen
           ‘tween the branches hunched in lean —
one may find this twisting root unsheathed
to be but gentle Atlas of ‘Rachnid’s silken’sea