Excerpt from the poem The Dancers:

There are dancers in blue swans at moonrise
who wag the howls of a hill
and carve out the wind
on a blossom's red chin
until time erases the will.


“(Bunch’s) poems strike a sharp tone, as a jazz image. He speaks of the urban, rural, and eternal malaise; and joy of man.”
—Vanderbilt Divinity Review

Excerpt from the poem Endgame:

I see that inner fire
That makes angels of dried bones
In deserts where you ride this stallion
Across miles and miles of naked soul.

(Bunch) is a “consummate craftsman.”
—Mark Floyerhus, Konfluence


Excerpt from the poem Windward O’ahu:

Where wind and the hands of chance
Husband oceanic pastures of the blood,
Aims of our fragments and fire.