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Let Life Go to Your Head
let life go to your head let’s run as if the world never stopslet’s inhale after rainand parachute on the backs of dragonflieslet the sun get in your eyesand the juice of a tangerine run softly down your chinlet’s ask questions and allow the bluebirds to answerlet us let loose the moors of being until…
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An Aquarium for Lost Balloons
i.there is a weightlessness to things misunderstoodas if rocked in bellies of lightningin a word, cloud-struck there is a gravity to solitude that only matter can fixi close my eyes and imagine my body, magnetized and finitetucked into the folds matter has given mei rest beneath the eyelids of a hazy dreameri am the matter…
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Morning Poem #4
every morning is a call to witness the unknown button the clothes softly and with intentiondrink coffee as if embezzling its nectarfor some sacred purposefeel the planets rumble to lifeas the wrens conduct their morning symphony with abandonwalk as if galaxies alignwith each footstepand understand that this, too, is a form of prayer
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Pomegranates
there is no time to be anythingother than yourselfgently now, as bees donever rush that which takes root slowlyand never cease to make roomfor your own astonishmentmy friend, if you see me in heaven,tell the gardeneri lived sumptuouslyas pomegranates do This is a revision of a poem I wrote several years ago, titled “Pomegranate Song”.…
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Morning Poem #3
if there ever was a sight more perfect than a pair of early morning bluebirdstending to their nesti haven’t seen itthough there are, perhaps, other ways of sensing that God is among usjust as coffee fills the cupsand the teeth are polishedand the pants pulled on one leg at a time as the earth puts…
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Morning Poem #2
some mornings, the eyes open widerthe first slow stretch of the muscles as butterflies unfurl their wings, etc.the coffee, ripe as a sunand the little birdsmaking arabesques of time outside the window frameremind us of the writing and rewriting of thingsno less cosmic or supernaturalthan simple things which aren’t necessarily so
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Morning Poem
this morning, like any otherunfolds softly in first impressionsthe coffee and its familiar aromasas siphoning flowers in early Aprilor better yet, as petitionsto the gods, perhapswhich can move galaxies in our direction or a length of sunshineas the shoelaces are tied and the shirts are buttonedin a ritual that can only be described as cosmicsoon…
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Everyday Poem
of not so distant things and peopleas galaxies woven into the cotton, this is the constellation of happenings that make a life, sacred as washing behind the ears andpulling on the jeans, etc.and no less cosmicthis experience of floating through spacewithout knowing how fast we fall
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The Harvest We Carry
i could die in a field of wildflowers if they would have mei could sift through November leavesquiet as a birdsearching for answers to cosmic questions while rain pelts the windowsand the cookies in the oven grow tall, like little domesi could write tales of kings and queens, of sorcerers and witches and warlordsconjuring images…
The Used Life 