September 25, 2016


i hear the geese
this morning and the cooing
of something much closer

the neighbor boy
screeches "Reid!  Catch!"
and then wailing

and with this blanket
wrapped around my legs
the sun has finally come up.

sunday risen.
it is autumn quiet and
listening, i am home.

September 20, 2016

open doors

look, i don't believe in god

so please don't pray for me.
though it makes you feel better
i would rather a cluster
of dandelions just past their
yellow, to wisp my counter top
and in their vase, 
illuminate the wishes i can make.

look, not god,
but the earth and weeds give me faith,  and 
sitting with the autumn leaves falling on
my chest, my heart.  i believe in the
rabid foxes in my back yard, and the
people who will love me
like a boa constrictor loves a bunny.

don't pray for me.  just bring me bouquets
of empty spiderwebs and stalks of wild
and unwanted, fistfulls of skeletons,
fistfulls of lived, and
walk with me
through the door half closed,
into the universe.

September 17, 2016

so simple so intense **after William Carlos Williams

so much depends
you and i

smiles with dark

beside the high

plain and white hindsight

it was joy, us.
beauty:  fragile, evanescent
fulfilling our own
(i think of williams' red wheelbarrow
and the drop of rain that glazed it,
and made the base shine, and

now you and i.
our touch: cavernous, small.  furtive
function.  only: feed.
and death, alive
(and i think of williams'
bird that, plain and white,
made the red clear, so