mountains
cover the horizon
the sun is wandering
broken trunks
on a mountain’s slope
dressed with moss
Graphis scripta
on a smooth cork of trees
unknown language
Autumn harvest
the crescent is reaping
moorlands
a stone
on the edge of rock
hides an avalanche
day festival –
the fog muffles a storm of applause
the flashes fade
hot sky in July
cools in a bath of grass
steams the dew
place where a stone
once was filled to the brim
hope for life
you are water too
even though your shape doesn’t
adapt to the form
a gallery of sky, wind
carves from the clouds ever different
summer mornings