Empty twigs

Hanging in darkness, little

Ghosts of lace

 

Birdsongs and mist, like
rumors of spring in the
shadowless trees

 

 

Lighting up
Winter’s canyon, a stream of
Falling silver

 

 

Last night’s moonlight

rushing down to catch herself

 in the sea

 

 

 

 

The lightness of fog

Lighter still, we climb

The sun and I

 

Their crowns converging

Forest of differences

Finding common ground

 

 

Clash of wind and waves
Only their echoes
On the morning shore