In Spanish Hills

In Spanish Hills
In this fiery furnace
is forged a languid blade,
yet in these hills
is a vibrant pulse.
And formed within
this small enclave
is a definite sense
of them, and us.

The eye drowns in colour
and shimmering haze,
yet we carry around 
a windswept moor.
On an azure calm
our vision sails,
but what comes to mind
is a battered shore.



Word Jam #5

The tutelage of December

the mantling of trees
all rapt in obedient, 
window assembly

their imagination
outrunning their eyes

with premonitions 
of the coming hours