Note to self: giving thanks, even anonymously, makes a difference.

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... What I found on your blog resonated very deeply with me so I assume that was the reason I found myself pulled in that direction. Your open letter might as well have been written by me or about me- mother of two children with a marriage full of cracks that neither of us can seem to pull the plug on or breathe life back into. Your writing is beautiful, poetic, tragic, and full of life. Thank you for touching this life this morning.


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months of writing on scraps of paper, my hands, calling my answering machine with words, creating in my head then losing it again as the sun rises or the child cries or a phone call makes me lurch.  nothing coming but scraps, dirty hands, full mailbox, frustration, and lurching.  and then this arrived for me, this note above, and something inside me broke.  and it helps.


thank you, you you who wrote me that note above.  i hope you read this, back at you.

contradiction

love is love and
lover is lover.
and you wake in some other, your bed.

i say:  good morning, sunshine
to the light of a certain star.

and think of sighs, poems
of breakbone fever, of cold.
you found shelley's "good-night" silly. 

alone at dawn and
i bid some beam good morning.
silence softly returns.  how can it be?   

untitled.

in draperies of saudades
drawn. 

mirage

rawhide and barb wire
tumbleweed ride.
creosote, sagebrush.
red hawk cries

so long as the sun is
keep on

through desert and
rattlesnake.  there is
wet tar shine.