Sweet runs the water ever

out of spring and meadow,

frothing low, rising,

weaving through

the sodden grass.

Silver line, transparent flow,


and shine and


where the willow damsel-

fly dives and climbs.


When I think of a beginning ~ before the beginning,

a needle on a gauge between something ~ and nothing, nothing

and something ~ then sticking at something,

the core of the earth ~ like a hot fist

gathering force ~ a dance set in motion

by a matrix contracting ~ it’s Spring beginning

or never ending, beneath all

change, continuing ~

look, look again,

at what was there,

is here, and if it is hiding,

it’s not hiding

from you.