Nepidae

inches between mud banks
minutes pass by waterscorpion strides
legs kicking intending to be behind
what dies when currents dry
snout to signs of life
with metronome sides

Phalacrocoracidae

the cormorant lived a life of parables
barely able to struggle
against the fate of a natural
success story, the huddle
of servant birds made as if amicable
to the king, the cormorant bathed in black
the promotion of night in the face of day
they who resent the posture on a rock
or the tendency to sink beneath the waves
emerging effortless elsewhere
not the goose nor the duck
can fathom this approach to stuff

same water

blue stacked on pink granite rocks
salt blinks in brown eyes
off the different hues
of a september tan inclusions of spots
mimicry of the moths lightened
on spider webs stretching months
touching east to north and sounds to mouths

by blinking by

alone along lines
counting on beams
backroad a katydid
what acute darkness does
to lighten up trees
in electric silhouettes
comes to a sudden halt

where crickets talk of art

piano keys compounds
harmonic isosceles
north is nothing south
has or wants
instances of limits lifted
digits with insight principled

ups and downs

on the avenue
where squirrels dissolve
into hues
the time tricks cogs
with rhythmic kicks
into the blues
dont got them
temporary foibles
nettles hoisted over
lake anointed forever

ipso facto

bluffs on the edge of muck
roots that must bust
water all that was juts
into and on banks fraught with beach nuts
the trilliums of bach and the like
are nothing to us on the precipice of wealth
the big muddy cleft a continent
left is a concept
right is a portent
of something adieu 
bears or blue herns
citizens that knew

eons in the making

water who doesn't drop
tomato on boughs atop
alot of earth stop

reverse signals writ
in the harvest
rest a bit

revere single trysts
in the largess 
sun in it

never far

idle as the gull
on wing thoughed winds blow
the pine is tall and bowed
on rocks ploughed white foam
courses turning below
aloft to soak throughed
all that we stowed

guess an august

a stranger at the cash machine
imagine no stranger worth that
stagger still and listen
to pockets stuffed with ash

loose with rubber on the road
the dose is a river full of coast
boats impatient to launch
wake gunwales bow stern toss

isotherms

from the rocks
angles that crickets
keep in stock lines
to sign quartz jaded
washed up by slime
big waves the laked
trigonometry accross
and run aground