Rustling

In the silence, 

of a winter moon

we wrap up in whispers

unpack an old quilt

patchworked with a scent

of old people

Cloud Type

Over a sunken canoe

pass cumulus clouds

 

Hastening winds

chase their shadows

up the hills

 

So many meanings

in and out of sunlight

 

A pair of swallows

tear up

the sky