Three poems by P R Kargaard

False Bay, San Juan Island In the autumn morning, the high thirds of the trees I know have vanished. Obscured by a sleepy fog. It is a way of being in pearl which seeps like a surface covering everything I know. I imagine that in the night I fly among these trees, leaping from top to top bearing the fog like a cape, laying it down behind me. In my dreams, … [Read more...]