Wednesday, October 7, 2020


And a cloud is floating, a round cloud,

like a cap on my head,

and my time passes, like a dream

dreamed without sleep.


I was back reading Gennady Aygi
in late July — muggy wet weather
blasted by a now and then breezy lovely 
sunny day to ride the bicycle (we rode
the bicycles on the muggy wet days too),
each book beautifully presented by Peter France
Salute — to Singing; Time of Gratitude;
Winter Revels and Ever Further into the Snow
and so many of his other books on my shelves


About One More Wood

From this little wood,

at last,

for ever or for years

the mushrooms have gone.

This happened slowly,

over thirty years.

And now, as I think back,

this disappearance, their "going"

seems one single action,

like the dying away

of a long-lived orchestra

of a long-lived choir.

take care little mushrooms