Some thoughts are meant to go the way of the mayfly — to live and die in a day;it’s not much time, a day,but such is the breath of a thought. Transitory notions — mouthless, titanicswarms from a mighty launch,a sea of cellophane sails rising and falling in reflective flight — a dancebefore the end … More some thoughts, like mayflies
yesterday was flung into the setting sun— arcing over a canopy that brushedthe pale pink and purple puffs that softenedthe sky — pulled down, to its end, into the horizon sunsets in autumn, an end to an end — curtain callsbefore the curtain falls to the ghost light— the gradual fading of applause, our audience … More the grace of a setting sun
the amber traps and holdsold memories under glass molding and folding moleculesaround the unsuspecting and unexpected life that was birthed in Spiritgroaning and rejoicing from sacred roomswhere thoughts and prayers fed tireless fingers for clicking keys I recall a darkened narthexcut by a blade of light from the door– your door – to σοφίας καὶ … More set apart, in amber
Right now, my soul longs tolie on top of a grassy hill,back flat to the earth wheredust to dust is just as closeas it will be until my Day. Ringed by red pine stretchingheavenward, crowns liftedin fragrant praise and offeringfor having roots – and giving them –as ancient Will intended. Crows dance their way to … More Lying hillside, dreaming on shiny things
What manner of life leadsto living the best of it? Where does the mind driftwhen the waves pull it andmake it dance against rocksand unexpected shores? How do the hands graspand fiddle and smooththe things that prick and burnsuch eager fingertips? When is the right timefor one foot, toes out, arms upto hopscotch over God-knows-whatwith … More What manner of life leads to living the best of it?
I know a dying leaf when I see one,it’s plump life being sucked backinto the branch that once gave it life,so the branch could live leathered span of serrated lobeslit by fall’s flame in a slow burn that creepsalong a landscape of conceding cells,puffing out the last of summer’s spirit the spirit of a more … More I know a dying leaf when I see one
that thing of love, the nestwhere treasures cherished mostare held in pillowed comfort withina gauzy, delicate womb; a placewhere life grows, at least in dreaming we press each memory and why-was-it-not-a-memory andmemories wished in a dim horizoninto the soft folds of flesh and spiritheld together by threads with muffled beats we long to draw from … More that precious thing of love
Fog abates the darkening cut of shore With fingers’ brush of water’s airy reach,While vessels’ breath breaks for what lies beforeAnd mutters kyries in halting speech.Sea’s bracing grip around uncertain hullSpurs maddening heart to clutch love’s image,For the muffled croon of the distant gullCannot dissuade thoughts of an icy cage.Yet, through this cold, deceiving – … More Fog abates the darkening cut of shore
Buying an anthology of poetry felt like stepping back in time when poetry was the thing to do. It felt smart. Cultured. I’m doing so. I rediscovered the art of the verbal snapshot. I’ve written poetry throughout the years, but haven’t immersed myself in learning from poetry already written. And so, in a family trip … More Reflecting on “A Book of Luminous Things” by Czeslaw Milosz
I know.I see it.Movement. Clustered tips of arborvitaebend with the breezeand I want to be in that supple exchangeof breath and life. Thick botanic pillarsbound in ruffled spraysof green, fan over fanhand in hand, as one,yet varied as thought. Is this not faith and gracein one fragrant tower, a signand shadow of our shape,from Edenic … More what is it about today?
a tilting of air 