Mist not only obscures, but reveals.
The mountains, that cracked rim of bowl
that holds me, are gone…
How can the world be ending
when there is music on the radio
when somewhere a new life is being born
right now and now and now
On the day of least light,
two cypress trees buffer the dark
and frame the rising sun.
On your own shortest days,
shadows long on the ground…
I’m tired of the promise of more,
and how it always makes me
feel less.
How much can one possibly need?
Hope is there alright
but you have to let it;
you have to let hope
tip the scales…
In the heart of fear
lies fearlessness.
In the eye of the hurricane,
stillness presides…
We watched and it wasn’t a movie and
none of us could leave.
Something was lost.
Alone is a mistake made early
but not one we’re doomed
to wake into each day…
Like mountains
driven up,
eroded,
every day we rise
and fall back down…
It’s easy to love life
under blue sky,
arms thrown wide to the weather;
sun shining, highlighting
life’s soft curves….
You’ve been here before
but facing the road
doesn’t mean
you have to rewalk it…
Be not silent.
Do not sideline yourself
to the imagined power of another.
It is the air itself
that saves us.
Night’s cool cover, a cloth
on our burning face…
Flat on the bed
I see the hawk fly by
fingers of her thick wings spread
like my own, splayed and spent
It’s not that we’re abandoned,
but that we demand delight
at every turn.
We can only stay sated so long…
I wake to find
a silver bar of moon
has slipped between the curtains
to scan me…
Someone knows these answers.
Someone loves this beach
and is known by it
for the press of their foot,
for the skin the sand sloughs off
and mixes with its own.
I go to the earth,
to ground,
to lay down,
place down
all the things I cannot carry.
I gather fallen limbs,
handle lichened bones
with reverence,
returning them
to the base of their tree.