The Dark Swirl

Nested deep in gray wood
Cloaked by swaying trees
The black feathers carried
Across the straw by a dark wind
Swirling in three patterns
Chewing the topsoil
And spitting out husks
The aging structure did not resist
The approaching arms
Of an old man
Who died standing
And a dead man
Who continues walking

A Child and His Sandcastle

A boy sits near the shore
Where the sand is wet
Where the water receeds.
As the tide rolls back
Beyond the strength of salty waves
He grasps liquid earth
With both hands.
He builds a deformed world:
A hiding place for sea crabs,
A nesting place for gulls.
Once he is satisfied
The structure is large enough,
He steps inside and rests
Awaiting a new tide
That will reclaim
His world to the sea.

An Unlikely Canvas

Two shapes in continuous motion
Changed in dimension
From flat to deep and flat once more
As they traveled in flux
Square to box to square
Circle to cylinder to circle
Teardrop to heart to tear
Moving faster than the shapes
Two colors raced in primary shades
From blue to red and blue again
When the motion ceased
The colors bled unnaturally
Onto an unlikely canvas
Creating a pool over the tiles