Auras
 

there is a caterpillar on the tractor
moving on two endless belts
and it does not matter
if the ground is loam or hardened
it will move relentlessly on

there is a caterpillar in the cherry trees
of an abandoned road
and a larva is stretching his hold
he is a butterfly to be
unable to stay still, afraid to let go

there is a hidden woman
in the aura of my circular street
sometimes the sun will burst
through a dogwood shelter
where she clings to limbs, like old rain.

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Again
 

there she stood
an embrace miles away
no kiss in the rain
from heaven's floor
her voice slipping down
a lush mountain trail
trampled in the movement
of the trade horses
from the old winds of Abagale
caught in the early song
of a phoenix thrusting
in the glance of that rare bird
she recognized the new eyes
rising not from the ashes
but from the dark, wet fern

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