Temple sonnets

Meta forces.

At the freezing's aftermath.

On a dark hill.

A brush pile in a pasture.

In a night filled with thrashing.

Like little grey mice.

After the long stillness.

Spring breezed in.

All that killing.

From their underworld routes.

In this protracted moment.

The cleft earth.

The far foreseeing mind.

The paradox of sunset.

Wasn't it only a moment ago.

Time has come full circle.

I hoped with all my hope.

Time and intent.

I knew that this would happen.

On heavenly earth.

In the spiral of time.

Imagine a fingernail moon.

Grim clouds slouched over.

Like a cloud I wrung.

Like the River of Time.

Time climbs towards the solstice.

With every Spring's return.

It's about a way of seeing.

Consider Time.

Since the world was young.

The morning in a full euphoric swing.

On the mirror of the pond.

There with the muttering hum.

A quiver of feathers.

Ehen consciousness drops.

The dark cross of the vultures.

In a day advanced to midddle age.

In a meadow under the rain.

A meadaow makes an oval.

THe curved horizon.

THe sky became a grey balloon.

The woods donned the idea.

Magic where.

Dusk already dipped.

Picture this a whole.

Time is the home.

The fact of the matter is.

Overturned.

One more evening being.

THe blue eyed sky.

I've considered how.

THe time between.

Fog filling the field.

TH heron.

Forget the honeysuckle.

I keep on coming back.

Gothic clouds.

If conspiracy it was.

A waiting for winter woodpile.

After the quick cold came.

The green revolt.

A eight point buck.

Time was up.

You may remember.

My mind is a room.

Leaving is always the choice.

I thought the frost.

Nightfall fell.

In the gut of the dark.

Rain rain and wind.

The sun was diffused.

A phantomy fog.

The story.

Gaunt faced birdsong silent.

Remember why you came.

The plot is epic in proportion.

Where the fir trees skirt.

Spring a memoiry and a prophecy.

An animial during darkness.

At the south side.

Before the white-faced winter.

Picture this you're looking down.

Winter's pale body.

The world puts on a masque.

The cold virility of time.

It's not escaped me.

There're some of us.

Were I a hungry hunter.

Calm the heart.

On and on and on and on and on.

The full-bellied moon.

Out oif the stuff of stars.

Like the pulse and impulse.

Winter's hiaatus.

A writh-like fog.

A coild that metamorphosed.

This is not the first time.

I see what Wintr does.

When I wondered.

Winter's inevitable charge.

Before the horizontl beam.

Would it matter if.

I awoke about a week ago.

I've been there.

After Summer's leaf proliferation.

The schizophrenic weather.

Fog smoldering.

Tyhe indiscriminate fog.