352

Pond of dead wood rain
Dimples pulling to  edges
Where we stand like trees

351

High in winter's tree
Bare branch birds that gently sway
Give up day for night

350

The sky reachers soft
Wrap you with scent and stillness
Remember heartwood

349

I wake on sharp rocks
To piece together a day
From lumps of grey sky

348

A line of hill flows
Into a still wood soft mud
Underfoot silence