by Jonathan Greene 

After the stroke

the words break up

like wind spreading out sky – writing

cloud snippets floating away

never again words

but wanting to be.

by Jonathan Greene 

Washing the dishes,
looking up —
a lunar moth
against the window.

Often I forget
how close —
this other world.

by Jonathan Greene 

Stayed busy
trying to track
the osprey’s footprints
on the fast – moving river.

by Jonathan Greene 

The full moon
swimming the whole ocean
to tickle my toes.