On A Bare Branch A Crow Is

Not To Think Of Yourself / As Someone Who Did Not Count -- / Festival Of The Souls.

Ballet In The Air... Twin Butterflies Until, Twice White They Meet, They Mate

A Weathered Skeleton In Windy Fields Of Memory, Piercing Like A Knife.

A Thicket Of Summer Grass / Is All That Remains / Of The Dreams Of Ancient Warriors.

April's Air Stirs In Willow-leaves...a Butterfly Floats And Balances