Winter Lake


I dreamt the sun rose

at midnight. Veiled. Gracious

with the moon. We waltzed.


Our snowshoes were like wings.




Liberation Seeds


A moment of insight. Sitting

by the river in June. Perhaps

this is the end of my weakness.


There is no end to my weakness.

Liberation seeds.




Newfoundland in November.

Loneliness. The last thought before

the impossibility of loneliness.




Watching wind shaped by chimney

smoke. The stillness of trees drawing

sunlight. Blue shadows on fresh snow.


There is not much going on here.

Liberation seeds.