bright eyes this close

do stars each reflect your life, giving place.   a line of sight.   distance
       is no seperation.   no excuse.

spaces, between, hard to see, are full, like painting life.   connection
       is how we know.

whether we see or not see.   creation remains as meant to be.   us too.
blindfolded we were taken to the mountaintop.   stars fingertips close.
       we spoke.   they responded in kind.

vision is dry, not wet.   yet I hear a splash.   dare describe.

       mother came every time when I called in dark night.   doubts.
       moments are not a river.   yet.   a river moves.
summer is warm dust.   back to bare back, we swallowed till full.
       she had a name.   we both had names.   inches close.

       I follow.   I do not insist.

here, one certainty.   if you don’t look, you won’t see.   although,
       you may be seen anyway.   care, when walking beneath a limb
       during dawn, during dusk.   the natives said.

stars say, it’s the neck we first appreciate.   bright eyes repeat.

do they land like rain, leaf on leaf, a million times.
here’s one thread.   a matter of choice.

counting pebble skies

thirty-eight birds on a wire.
clear bright spotless blue otherwise.
shadow limb roosted leaves unmoved
in summer middle-day heat.   silent green.

slumbered earthen white truck beneath
claws itself awake, clears its’ throat.
unexpected growl.   startled all
into flight.

feathers leap into elliptic waves all
in less space than one random thought.
become a broken road round river


oddly enough, fifty-three return.

one is white.

prompt:   write a poem about something that takes place in a near instant (say five seconds or less), and keep your observations attentively direct without consideration toward meanings.

and oddly, birds on my mind.   so this.

nature says

that staccato hiss, like from a throat
in the rain.   and there, birds beginning
as rain swallows its breath.   now one
bird a circle right above my head.   then
a second arrives singing, singing.
        I listen even it its not for me.
a church bell moves away.   rain finds
us again.   steady this time.   ducks?
unexpected, yet my ears bounce their
rhythm calls.   or are they geese?
stubborn.   water arrives underfoot, no
surprise.   there, there’s the flight
lighting their way with voices, loud.
by itself, an echo inside.
are you there?   we all ask.
        are you there?
lonely now, grey sky makes a shadow play.
water sets it at ease with another bell,
closer this time.   crickets, oh crickets
and frogs!

your sentences are exactly right.