The closet

Subtle like drizzle,
Catchers on rainbows
Where dreams fly under

Shining in a closet
A stone
Golden with age

The time is right

Drinking to tomorrow,
Yesterday in a spoon
left in a corner

Talking to elms

Walking by the trees
the necklace of the sky
glitters like windows
with shocked eyes

the water in puddles
lies dead like sleep
somewhere nearby,
a dream shivers quietly

The wolves in his lines

Over red clay
a writer fumbles
his words,
rich they seem
like the rain in his lap
shouting at mountains
the wolves in his hands