full poems after the fold:
foliage
wind thumbs through paper leaves rustles and tugs until it plucks a single one just one leaves and dances with the wind that day it springs and skips and vaults whisked into a gust of drops and somersaults until at last it falls it will not know the winter a leaf is not a tree one dies the other sleeps one dances as one sways a tree is not just leaves but is it truly folly to say a tree leapt through the air that one autumn day
primordial
before there was anything before birds before trees there appeared to be something in the vast, vacant seas how it got there we don’t know but it must have been something out of nothing perhaps it was a no the begin the start out of many perhaps that began everything a strand in formation a shape in the void not really living still cold but not dead it was never alone it couldn’t have been it shared all its matter it did not have skin a cell is a prison with an out and an in but without walls before structure or rank we were one sharing and shifting our shapes together in the blank