cold morn ~
the ghosts o’ dead trees
on the highway

cold morn ~
the ghosts o’ dead trees
on the highway

late autumn ~
in comes an evening guest
ol’ leaf

early snow ~
the young cat takes
its 1st step

november ~
ran into an ol’ friend
216th st. sunset

downtown autumn ~
walking streets paved with
golden leaves

autumn rain ~
in seattle is born
a new lake

spelunking
the iron caves o’
construction


by the colacolored waves
whispering their swaying sounds
sun this sunday early lays
’pon its waterbed o’ clouds
blanketing these cooing gales
mintsweet firs to kill the chills
counting ships those reekcreep snails
sail its walls o’ frosty hills
days descend like paper sheets
yellowing synced with leaves whose trees
shiver black with tea & seas
unfurling
in the silver wind
golden locks

november ~
black crows pecking
pumpkin remains
