As The River Runs Through It

Only a fool

walks in winter,

he hears them say.

Then only a fool

catches the loose amber city

glow, walking over the bridge at night.

An Old Poem for H.D.

Why is it we

Seek the portal

To immortality

In the charred hollow depth

Of the quiet willow tree?

It is here, brother,

In a drowsy summer breeze

Weeping for forever

The death in me.

One Afternoon in August

Two peaches

Were picked.

And plenty else,

Packed in pairs,

Prepared for her.

w.f.