dreams
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When I dream of younow that it’s over,a man singsbasso profundo —the range my waking ears are deaf to hear— a dirge,very beautiful, composed, true,nothing from this world,nor heard before;no question of putting notesto pagelike you do.I don’t know howsomething in me invents this,something hears this —song you will never hear— I don’t have that…
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Prelminary Visions is available directly from me or certain bookstores. From the cover: “In the deep woods, hikers say, if you feel you are being watched by an animal, you probably are. Preliminary Visions creates moments of being, moments of relation, moments of meaning-making—frequently with that sense of being observed by a silent witness and…
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The Wayfarer published “The Brightest Moon Ever in the History of the Universe,” a poem about falling under the sleepless spell of the full moon. It’s a lovely, contemplative and nature-loving literary magazine that was one of the first to publish my work, so it’s great to–um–come full circle with this poem about the full…
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This sweet, sweet smell of life itself—I breathe deep drafts and linger, cheek on softest cheek. No rush today as I lay claim to this moment; I am here to start her day and she wakes up happy, reaches for my neck, flittering eyelashes. But those tiny butterflies revert to caterpillars, her eyes move under…
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“Oh! I have something beautiful to show you.” Her eyes flicker open closed, her hand reaches out, heel of palm up, “see, when you hold it up to the light it sparkles!” Suddenly, a pull back, a disappointed “oh” as her empty hand tucks under her still curled, still waking body. She doesn’t know she…
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She shuffles in, soggy eyed, enslippered: I dreamt of a world where crystals floated out of the sky, catching light… Her eyebrows cave in and down: But they came to us slower than rocks should fall. Maybe the gravity was different? No, they weren’t rocks, somehow, they were– they were water! And oh,…