01 Sunday Jan 2017
Stitching time with you
brought me to the end of a thread,
one unkowingly finite.
Pushing my hand through air toward
your warm forehead, lightly damp
beneath a short cascade of brown hair,
mixed salt sour scent, barely perceptible
and more familiar than any other’s,
in a last inhale holding no more frustration
with the snap of that thread
and a long, tangled, eventually satisfying,
wordless goodbye.
26 Monday Dec 2016
He felt it
upon walking through the door.
He met the spirit of the place
and, recognizing not his hunger but
the food that quelled it,
eyes searched piles and corners,
while feet took him further inside
than the visit required.
Touching countertop, dishing questions,
noticing, lingering, sensing, offering,
eventually the task on the roof-
the reason for the call-
pulled him back outside to search there, too,
for holes letting in winter rain.
A ladder leans against an eave
though his warm blood and yellow shirt
departed down cold canyon road an hour ago.
20 Tuesday Dec 2016
Roots set in frosty, frosty ground
hugged by grit and worm and mole,
the slowlystretchinggrowing silence of
tips touching stonewetsoft.
Ears needn’t hear, nor eyes see-
vitality cups darkness
and nutrients find pathways
up up up
to light of day, and sharp starry sky.
The underearth knows quiet
and no-hurry, no-worry.
Sit awhile atop roots and wonder
just wherehowwho far
your own earth arms wriggle.
15 Thursday Dec 2016
Riparian corridor
in orange and yellow
ribbons between greening hills.
Brown shaggy dog trots,
with pink frisbee flopping,
toward the river.
30 Friday Sep 2016
A rock stands in your path.
A big one.
It’s the same damned rock you’ve walked smack into countless times,
decade after decade,
despite the changing terrain.
You walk the mapless territory, silently, wondering… how on earth?
Do you go around?
Climb over?
Finally hammer the blasted thing to pieces?
Your choice, always.
Fun part is-
this time
your decision may be unlike
any other.
22 Thursday Sep 2016
Being an untamed tributary
of a river whose origin reaches far
into depths unkown
brings twists of bramble,
leaping fish,
frog and cricket symphonies,
bats dipping low in twilight-
when settling into quiet lulls.
In rugged young churning-
escaping water
pulls earth, boulder, tree to itself
as passion builds with heavy rains,
filling banks,
carving hungry routes,
chewing civilized lands and
renewing plots left withering.
This tributary is this and more,
trading nothing away
in honor of its nature–
wild, strong and unpossessing.
14 Wednesday Sep 2016
An act of love is a stone
dropped
into a body of water:
It ripples.
The world may be unresolvable
but
you can still make waves.
09 Friday Sep 2016
know those times
when there’s nothing to hold on to?
but the brain tries,
oh boy does it try-
it clings to the past, to the future, to what is wanted, to what is feared, to what has been or may be lost,
to what ifs and oh shits and
waaaaait what just happened?
that’s when it’s clear:
throw up both hands
– high into the air –
the ride
has already begun
04 Sunday Sep 2016
Love isn’t
always soft
is
untidy
(a raw egg yolk held
in hand)
has sharp edges
– humans dabble –
Love’s a ritual
a practice
a devotion
a learning
an art
Love is difficult
playful
strong
it’ll kick your butt
and
no craft
can possibly
outshine it
28 Sunday Aug 2016
Being sculpted
means
being thrown,
as clay,
first kneaded- no bubbles – then
spun
well beyond dizzy,
cut,
and fired to degrees
scorching
even by shuddering imagination
if
your aim is to be a
cup,
vase,
bowl,
holy space ripe
for filling,
able to offer solace, pleasure,
delight,
beauty, compassion,
ease,
and round reflections of sky.
Don’t hold on.
Be here.
Salt, Smoke, Water and Stone 