Philosopher's Stone

 

There is a rock,

On it I sit,

Because of its comfortably contoured unhewn fit.

It takes the weight from off my feet,

And directs my thoughts to philosophy's seat.

How it does this I do not know,

And from it I am loath to go.

Music of the Spheres

Mother Earth

Has a face of stone

Not without expression

Being a mother she cries

Happy tears, sad snows, angry squalls

That fall from clouds

Formed from her children’s breath

                                  While our sibling trees photosynthesize 

All our breaths into wind

That is her voice

Her ears can hear 

Mosquitos mate in perfect fifths

But the voice of Father Hertz

She loves the most

And here we are on planet earth

In our nursery

Hearing their lullabies

But not the symphony

A Fox is in the Sky

Blood-red Hunter's Moon,

A fox is in the sky.

Better for you to set too soon

Than catch that hunter's eye.

A dragon, too,

Is after you,

So fly, fly, fly.

Wolf Ineffable

Green Acorn Moon

The Summer Triangle is visible in the break in the clouds,

the heavenly lyre is subconsciously heard,

the flying and falling vulture are ubiquitous in the Oklahoma sky, 

reflections in the black pools of a water moccasin's eyes.

The acorns are green, the chiggers are swarming, 

the persimmon fruits unfallen are glowing,

the cedars grow, the crickets chirp, the tree frogs croak,

and the thrum, the hum, the vibration is palpable.