In A High Sierra Meadow

Leaves lying listless
To the wind's gentle passage
From the mountain to the meadow
From the granite to the grass.

When It Comes

If I feel uneasy about the night
When I think it comes too soon
When the wind blows from the sea
And fills my soul to the brim
With a spirit so sweet and strong
That my heart beats so violently
And my flesh frights with a sudden chill,
Then I think perhaps the time has come
For me to steal away, westward in the night
And catch the solar wind upon my back
As the morning's sun soars high aloft
To cross the zenith of the sky
Then sink below the somnolent haze
Dispersed forever into nothingness.

[Both poems, copyright T. Fredric Jones, were published in Tangent Magazine, Spring 2009.]