Dryad
My art conjures you, subtle sprite:
In wooden house no longer dwell
but step from tree to vision's light,
your pith made human heart by spell.
Your cooling leaves that spread a shade,
your limbs that rise, your subtle sway,
are graceful form and humor made
by force of will through words I say,
for I have seen in midnight dreams,
where all is blended as in mist,
your face in images that seem
but hint that they might yet exist,
and I have longed with eye to see
a dryad waking from her tree.
An Ecosystem of Angels
Silent drops of light that trickle,
higher to lower,
reflecting back an image of the whole,
the greater in the lesser,
catch reflections of themselves again,
the lesser in the greater;
in every gem are endless gems,
lower and higher.
