06 Friday Nov 2015
following the first rains,
earth perfumes the head
as damp and bay laurel and redwood rise skyward.
ferns unpin their curls at the feet of oaks.
kite and crow skirmish loudly
high above the crown of yellowing sycamore.
the river’s voice returns-
live music is never the same twice.
02 Monday Nov 2015
Yellow finches are preparing for rain.
While quick sky changes cast shifting light,
the fountain hypnotizes with song.
A ceramic mug of black tea rests on a knee,
and imagined scenes play out in my head.
With the wind tossing strands of hair,
I realize,
staying for the first drops to hit
may be the baptism I’ve been waiting for.
29 Thursday Oct 2015
Knowing nothing and
sensing much
leaves tongues tied in noncomprehension.
Were seeking to begin here
reaching would stop
and there beside me you’d be.
Sigh..
there beside me you’d be.
Right-
you already are…
21 Wednesday Oct 2015
The imprint of the dream,
a sudden waking
a gasp
an “oh my god” and
you return
to the surface
from a who-knows-where and
a deep
dive
down
carrying now
a dancing fish.
Upon the glass, a reflection.
Through the glass, a being.
Beyond the glass-
a destination calling you forth.
Without end
begins
with accepting the task
that brought you here.
12 Monday Oct 2015
For the shes,
for the women who held in reserve everything but
what they betrayed in the fathoms of their eyes,
I dance for you,
let my laid-down hair fly
and skin sweat rivers
underarm and between thigh.
My laugh is the wild thing you withheld
and the leap it was never safe
for you to take.
The salt this body gives up,
one gift I can give.
Carry me to where your bones rest,
I’ll bring the skull I’ve been handed
when calling guides from the directions.
You’ve yet to reach my dreams
but when you do
I know
your unpinned hair will be the least
of what you bring to night sleep.
29 Tuesday Sep 2015
Flames approach,
lick your heels,
singe your hair…
Now isn’t the time to run.
Turn-
Enter the fire.
27 Sunday Sep 2015
Talking with stones,,
Orb weaver builds ladders to the sky,
Screeching hawk tells me where I am,
and Vulture lands
large
to roost in his pine..
Still stones speak–
I will build you a home
here
every time you ask.
18 Friday Sep 2015
Cold coffee
Footfalls in the dark
Walking nose into web
The scurry
A mosaic
Labyrinth allows both
Entry and Exit
and maybe only one
My hand is warm
It will find your shivering skin
Bring fire to blackness you fear
Being alone is part of the mystery
Finding each other in shadow
A turn of the veil.
18 Friday Sep 2015
Turning the corner,
two winds blow.
The old blasts my back,
picking up tacks and sharp-edged photographs
along its path.
Those shes are afraid to let me go.
Losing habits,
the groove-cut ways,
riles folks.
The wind in my face,
cold, fresh,
hasn’t yet warmed with the bodies of the unmet,
invites like a new swimming channel
whose water is clear, dark,
hugging smooth stone,
knowing well the course and direction
in which it takes me.
Turning the corner
dances my hair on end,
and has me falling forward
into invisible arms I must trust
to catch me.
13 Sunday Sep 2015
A sacred hunger grows
and tonight can’t possibly be the right time
to feed it,
but wine and the Hammond organ
sure carve paths through
this wicked churchyard of a settlement.
Knock on my door in the morning,
my sight won’t be so cloudy
with delicious nostalgia,
and what sorrow erases clear vision
will lighten
with sunrise laughter.
Salt, Smoke, Water and Stone 