Speck

SPOONed out with ease a god these mountain masses?
SPOOKed with thoughts, pondering vast force, climber toils,
SCARY the whats or whos who raise and sculpt great heights,
SNOWY slog, labored breath, each step speaking: I am a speck.

No escape

CHINA softly clinks in parlor’s quiet.
FAINT fear stirs: no margin here for mind to wander.
BONEY, her grandmother’s hand rises, falls, rises, falls for tea time’s rite.
GAFFE?—one lies along this labyrinth’s every path.

Patterns

CANON, a song of timed entries, weaving of sounds, staggered, yet same.
FAUNA, scurrying through burrows and hollows, for food and sleep.
FLEET, slipping from bay to channel, then on guard, sweeping the main.
SMITH, these patterns for muse, seeking to hammer order from fire.