Marc G. Auber

Clouds keep kissing peaks.
But the chill is still bitter.
Though trees cringe, they rest.
...

Twelve miners must fade.
A new year without their hands.
Last words penned amid gases.
Thousands cherish dripped tulips.
...

Sunset in a gorge -
testament to clear mornings.
Lonely pines atop.
...

My fort folded beneath a crumpled pane -
a window that envisioned truth,
which stretched far beyond all horizons.
My mind then forfeited its fathomable fervor.
...

Sermon on the Mount.
Jesus relaxes above.
Friends crowding the Messiah.
Prophets share my pain.
...