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

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…

when i go into the forest, i am often overcome by an unshakable sense that silence is a placenot a building, but a cosmosand when i plant my muddy boots on the welcome mat, i am there to visit, to knock on the door of silence and, if i am lucky, be invited in for…

there is no time to wastedawdling with what might have beenthe dishes still need stackingthe coffee to be drunki awoke one October morningand put on a Blue Öyster Cult recordwhile i fed the plants and folded the socks, etc. it was rainingand i scribbled a poem quite spontaneouslyon a piece of scrap paper it said:may…

things take shape in us suddenlyand let us go just as suddenlythese days of tender leaves remind usthe doves, too, racing like comets across the skyas if to say, there is no miracle other than thisand as for youdo you have the grace to let goof that which has let go of you?do you walk…

how do we measure the anatomy of a moment?perpendicular, perhapsor with great color,incredulous as that may soundtake, for example, a sip of coffeein millimetersor a hunk of gravityon the breakfast tablewhere we sit in astonishmentas the eggs grow coldtime tells us that we exist with radio-like precision,but that, too, is a lie:a nickel in the…