after Bob Ross

after Bob Ross

little Prussian blue sky
striped with clouds descending
a woods coming to life on the canvas
reflected in the water, trees
forest floor where the crawlers dwell
there is serenity in the midnight black
of the water and I wonder, when will
the cabin appear? It always does.

The Woods

after Robert Frost

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
With branches arching across the divide
In the road like spandrels of a cathedral
Their tips touching in a loving embrace.

Who is to know where this one leads?
Down the trodden path I do regard
My luck in finding such peace of mind
In which I can define myself in time.

The Stream

You are something I am learning to remember,

my body pressed up against yours in a stream,

water gliding over our bare bodies. In your arms,

I am looking up into the canopy of hemlock

and white pine, the whinny of the woodpecker

nearby. With you, there is room to grow into

something that I am learning to remember,

the current washing over us into the unknown.