Sunday, December 22, 2019

shy in the light

Deep the cut
of invisibility's fate
too long the night
too much blood escaped
from wounds long shadowed in despair's corner pocket
surprise comes with a price
to be seen
uncloaked to sorrow's chord
choking on tears of impossible weight
tonight seen, held in attention's grasp
shy in the light

becoming luminous 

Friday, December 6, 2019

to become day

I wake
rising from a nest of flannel with angles & sighs
to the ordinary rituals of
darkness with unremarkable chores
performed with the discipline of a
rancher in winter
coffee warming to boiling
sky dark and unfolding
there is a draped stillness here
before the birds wake
before the dome of sky turns hazy iris blue
molecules scattered by promise or portent
soft the morning comes
languid magic of color & form
the oak suddenly distinguishable against the day
dimensional and quivering in a slight breeze
cooling chill of dawn
I wake
moving in ministrations of a tender worship
of breath and
reverent appreciation of now
fire warming
coffee transforming
waking becomes remarkable against the surprising whiteness of sky
here captured by the texture of wool to weather
skin to bone
life to the quiet patience of December
to become day

Wednesday, December 4, 2019

the duality of light

it doesn't matter if you loved me
it doesn't matter if you used me
it only matters that you saw me
in spectrums crystal clear

because the truth is you showed me
how possible it was to love me
light & shadows souvenir 

knowing we hurt
knowing we burst
masked to the rest of the world
knowing we tried
outside the lines
inked promises unfurled

it matters that I loved you
it matters that I held you
a secret mystery
it matters we broke rules
it matters we wrote rules
defending our misery

pseudonyms change
rules stay the same
words on a page
roles we stage
can not deny
the flame in our lives
parts made of stone
sparks in our bones

you became home

chrysalis held
parts woke

edges smooth
hollowing cooled
gifts of love held close
truth unveiled
compassion prevails
changes deep within heart's burn
softening tempest--truth turned
love path's sojourn

every chapter holds a story
how beautifully wicked we learn
every passage has a secret
the key knowing when to turn it
wisdom opening to hold it 

to stars we return

white leaf girl

We danced the
lindy hop
and the twist
shagging on hi-lo sundown carpet
twirling under arms
holding hands
she took me to her world
her face--a thousand suns
always tan

We went in search of Autumn's first leaves
deepest reds and bronze maple
yellows like the fields
down a road of towering trees
crisp the air
light drifting to twilight
her face--animated with delight

We were caught between worlds
reach and retreat
afraid to hold to close that which dissolves
to dust
loves twin of loss
her face--mine
she was

dazzling  . . .

Wednesday, November 13, 2019


having a body has always felt so alien
as if a colt were dropped into the moon
not knowing where colt and moon begin and end
both luminous and ungainly
an inherit awkwardness with skin & bone
why I've dreamed the taste of wool & stone

this heart
green & fluttering
     bound by tides & winds
to beat thrum beat to some ancient song
from the lips of aubergine pearls
birdsong girl

what strange creatures we are to think
   and be
connecting not connecting dependent on the fractal structure of stardust
so fragile we seem to be
we are wondrous--
a colt dropped into the moon

this body
this heart of Sun

the sun as it hides at dawn

the light of this morning breaks across the rooftops opal-pale-blue
a new day unfolding with the open promise of birdsong
crisp whisperings
woolen truth tied to wind & white
morning, oh morning!


Sunday, November 10, 2019

at six o'clock

i took a glass of bourbon from the flame
and threw it to the moon

waxing gibbous
96% luminous

spell cast

there now
we are here
the other side of missing smells of snow forecast
pink twilight calling night
Joni playing looping unmoving
there now
we are here

there is no ache
no yearn
no burn
for that golden field

the thread remains
longing wanes

becoming a glass full of the smell of leaves burning
waiting to be sipped with long-eared owls & secrets
tine is wasting--waiting
can you taste it on the back of your tongue?
ahh ... you still taste me

throw it to the moon with a glass of bourbon at half past six

conjuring the other side of missing


i am night

pervasive infinity beckoning to what we can not see
this black
this night

elevated longing for unexpected galaxies
owning the moon
pressed to stars and comets

daylight ... makes me weary

Thursday, November 7, 2019

Now November

unpack our words
measuring the white space between
in sighs & numbness
threading truth to dreams as stars to night
what longing remains is scattered

now November
we amuse ourselves with what was
compacted lives rich
yet without the burn
what longing remains scattered
found in sky and moon
dust and entrails tossed
captive fortunes told in leaves and ash
smelling of autumn's smoke

eternal passage granted

what longing remains is scattered

Thursday, October 31, 2019


i have a remarkable ability to remain very present while at the same time traveling east in a direct
air-current line to where you are to sit in the warmth of your breath to inhale the very same air that you do while maintaining the illusion of presence and attention to all the things requiring said presence and attention as i lean upon the maple just outside my window feeling the harsh coarseness of its bark against the thin paper fragility of my skin and soul i can be tethered upon this land this life long enough to weave a coat from the tendrils of mind and memory tracing tracing back to you back to us and that day that you remembered remembered that we were always leaning one upon the other water to polaris fruit to hand board to nail ship to sea surrender to hollow skin to bark
amidst the smell of leaves burning hearts yearning hands leading souls all souls fly away to the point of ignition with light transfixed by the play of shadow and sun upon the very same maple's leaves turned to saffron sunshine cooling cooling to the march of winter's breath stay with me
stay. with. me.
here against that solemn dusty bark stripped of clothes and artifice and possibility

healing becomes a promise of illusion's hour 

Thursday, October 24, 2019


give voice to the basement children
wounded pieces ferocious & furrowed
mouth taped shut
deep cuts
song silenced
banished to the nevermore
cornered & caught
sixty year war

these words

ink out the tempest
soothe the fire
rearranging--twisting the collide of desires
defining friction
labyrinthine burrows of dark benediction

where is the brightness?
where the bloom?

here .... come away from the blight
come to the warmth of vast open light


at long last ... seen
moonlight obsidian
flannel diamond expedition
parched quantum fission

these parts weathered each moment with all that they knew
these parts named--ordained in a Breakfast Club coup

long may you rumpus! long may you rest
wounds unburdened in my storybook quest 

Tuesday, October 15, 2019


spiny burr
clustered on the branch
tufted husk of pale armor
guarding the cream upholstered flesh
softness smooth
grooves adhered tight to pellicle
gentle pressure popping free
one, two, three
sweet fruits to hold
umber rich revealed
seed to ripeness
spine to furrow
hard to smooth
captive youth

Wednesday, September 25, 2019


This part:

spins words to tales to treaties bent
dappled in velvet homage to birds and the moon
giving weight to the quantum miasma thru dappled light
be still
be still
the blue jay becomes the shadowdancer
waking the sun 

enough of me

The need to burn
to give the daemons some sky
in order to move past this grateful-stasis spot

shift to saffron's affirmation
trinity lineage be damned
experts at divine expectation and divinity rising
all the while distilling emotions
for song & mournful moon-dancing on the Volga

reformation & academics
god trumps all things human
here is my confessional:

spark the tinder …..  burn

Friday, September 6, 2019

the fabric of night

see me as vermillion
locked with a tiny key a thousand years old
by wind & water rising, rising

press me to cerulean between arms of sage & milo
smelling of yesterday's storm
penny-copper sharpness

I am a first snow
earth that lies between the cracks in the sidewalk
baked by sun
mysteries golden in particles of glass--dust
by wind & water rising, rising

rain falls
on a plum tongue waiting for a cotton memory

a pillow

skin coral-pink bells of pulsing weathered molecules
ozone of ash & death
life trembling

feel my azure evergreen shimmer against your thigh
to line & moonlight
rising, rising

see me as vermillion
there amongst the night

Wednesday, September 4, 2019

A Perfect Day

some moments I miss the consumption
the hollow contracted sternum to heart
the encompassing obsession of


is it the miss of the velvet mantle I wove myself
of your hands and bold honey words...
replete with all I know to be true;

fireflies & willow trees
Cather & Fitzgerald
whisky & wildfires
clean sheets & poetry

the rich fullness of everything

does it matter?
this ache...

more than likely
this is life

smelling of petricor & night

luxurious emptiness cradled in heat
and all I know to be true
red bird's bones & love songs

tell me, is there any more left?

lingering in the corner pocket of summer's grass
I loved you the first time I saw you
sticky delight of waning twilight
wild we found it - tamed it became
as we held to convention's fable
pressed in startling intimacy to the bind
letting go is easy when the heart is home

now as the blue jay's bones become my own


the blue jay's bones have become my own
tied with curly willow & regret
with a fisherman's knot
five hours 'til sunset this perfect September day
promise of flight
painted tender & light
upon the piercing tendrils
lifting lifting
beyond the falling night

Wednesday, August 21, 2019


three peaches sit upon the dining room table
waiting for something ....
four & twenty blackbirds?
plucked, frozen tender--a winter's secret
a peach crisp?
i heard recently that a true poet does not use images, photographs, pictures... art
that seems vapid somehow
damn, i am not a poet
as if i could write without fingers
the sound of this south-east breeze
to lay down words bereft of what it was that lead me here
here here here
i think i'll settle on the crisp
the birds won't settle down
three peaches sit upon the dining room table
          something ....
for a landing
a invitation
a room with a view of our wabi-sabi
oven warming to 350
clouds obscure the sun
as does liberation's smoke
can you smell it from here?
the peaches, not the smoke from fires burn
ooh sweetness rising
blue jay's summer passing
stolen naps with hundred year old quilts wrapping
time & traffic pressing in from windows dusty with choice

three peaches sit upon the dining room table
i am waiting for something

from a dream

The time she woke herself....
somnolent stirring of lash & limb
five thirty-two 
trembling with the weight of who she was 
with him 

echoes of blue jays--rain weary day 
stormclouds mask the dome of everblue
love drifts away 

sureness lies bare 
exposed to this hazed light 
no lingering of his amber ghost remnants 
truth softens the night 

golden the moment 
intimacy's grasp 
holy the bind 
release the clasp 

awake to fire
'neath willow & briar
drenched in August
becoming the thunder...

Monday, August 12, 2019

after the perseids on the plains

eastern sun upon the curly willow
green to green
as blue jay song lines the rising
a cool breeze
wakens trembling soothes the summer haze
a marked stillness bridges
from here to there from there to here
wakens trembles soothes
shimmers in the green to green of day

Tuesday, July 30, 2019

# twenty-two thousand three hundred and twenty one

... and the day breaks in sugar-snap marigold brilliance
trembling in the divinity of wrens & robins
light breaks upon the hackberry white on white
masquerading green to glory
how can one breathe when this is all so breathtaking?
beautifully ordinary
how can i hold my place here amongst this shimmering life?
the earthworm finds respite on the sidewalk away from the robin's search
while rabbits dart from fern to root in moment's furrow
of place of breath of day
all this summer's feast beneath the bluing blue ocean of sky
a bluejay calls ...
and I am lost to feathered flight once more

Tuesday, July 16, 2019


it would astonish you how swiftly

one moment i am the gray wool blanket upon the sofa

next a
dust mote
caught in the sunbeam coming in from the west window
at 5 o'clock


a breath

mind juggles the leaves on the birch tree along
with the blue jay feathers
i found
in the orchard this morning
as one hand held a watering can the other

transforms me

i am a smooth peach alive with wonder & fear
(in equal measure)
i am sky--clouds
memory & ash
i am everywhere


Wednesday, June 19, 2019

Stella to the blue

in the still quiet thrum of morning
all the words have been written
no revelation
no revolution
no eureka-thesaurus moment where words & time roll into the place of always
nothing but the early thrum of day dawning



a breeze barely rocking the curly willow
ghost dog curled against my back--pressing pressing
tendered always
a sky carousel-blue...unreal in hand-dipped perfection

sunshine strikes my face
eyes close
here upon a weathered-dried-in-the-sun cotton quilt
in a cicada field green-summer-golden



a breeze barely rocking the curly willow
a distant thrum from rivers wide

all the words have been written
there is no more than this ...

a bluejay sings its warrior song
claiming this piece of carousel-blue
Stella May June

Tuesday, June 18, 2019


....given a different latitude & longitude
the drape of water might have felt different

given a certain tincture of contentment
there might have been time contained within the velvet box of us

given a moon phase reflected in amber & nobility
we might not be here now

perhaps there would be cake
or the repetitive lapping splash of tides

given riches or earth resplendent in darkness biding
sunbeams hiding
beyond the atmospheres of this golden field

would we be?
would we care enough to pause in the pace & space of our hours
to notice
the tightening recognition of the impossible

Monday, June 17, 2019

venus in gemini

of a June Morning . . . this morning
wrapped in the haze of promised storms

this morning


the fullness of birdsong fills my body with a trembling vibration
my blood becomes feathered
search for the sun 

Wednesday, June 5, 2019


what once was
alludes & binds
a heavy cape of velvet blurs the royal lines
Oh . . . what celestial ink creates this Nebraska-blue?
veiled in poppies of aubergine new
golden sure
wild strawberry bright
origami sparrow flying white
oh .....
be careful and wise as wishes do come true :
sorrows rue
kaleidoscope seasons 
turn and go ... turn and go
as the dreamscape of want simmers
then slows ..
invisible we become
beige'd to beige
wallflower silent / Einstein's sage
touch yourself
first there!  .... then
                open the vein
wake the lost!
ghosts of euphoria tinder the frost
cloaked and hidden .... I walk thru walls
sweeping up the storylines
our story .... my story .....
inked between nights
golden fields bloom against legends of light
the cut sharpest at the cold snap of morning bright
while bent
the singed edges of
velvet weighted warming
intent thickens the bones
in the heart of the clear
forgiveness fills the corners
moon-shadows drip near
to waken ....
to walk ....
to be seen through the briar
to lie with the dragons of crystal blue fire

Saturday, May 25, 2019

when you open the hand that grasps

is it ever enough?

the lingering in the darkness?

what happens when you misplace the amber?
when one's own luminous light becomes enough to open...

the trope of letting go bleeds slowly across time
a mystery resin cured by loss & longing

is it ever enough?

the robin sings its forecast simple & soft
against the press of thunder & daylight
your goldenness is illusive
love's mystery recedes to the edges of my tongue

living with enough
brilliant the ring of fire
rich the day 

Saturday, May 11, 2019


Pressed to the edges of the hedgerow
smoothed gesso'd field laid pristine in its awakening


heralds a whiteness born of shadows
birch tree lined
to be lost is to found and lost again

here I remain

unyielding in my discomfort made blue
by this May Sky Morning 

Tuesday, May 7, 2019

self as girl

the girl in school who gets picked last
too tall
too skinny to be good or fast

at anything

listening to led zeppelin & csn&y
too much perfectionist to really know why swing the bat take a shot
discover a way to untie the knot

deep inside
perfection instant
too blond
too weird
and oh so much fear

knowing i had landed on the wrong planet
cat stevens & james taylor my constant companions
all the while peering over the edge of soul's canyon
playing at self & pseudo attraction
tidy & pink in lace pajamas
(tempting the wild, tending the fire)
serving kings & polar bears, little joe & yogi bear
listening to the whispered desperation of the lost & terrified
heart wrapped in glass & thorn'd armor pride

but right there, all along for all to see on heart's sleeve
(everyone assumes apathy)
(blue ice coolness)
it is a pounding feeling that trembles the earth
tapping into something bigger--brighter--a shaky joyous mirth

is there ever a master plan?
is there a reason?

too much of everything
perfection the mask
resilience the game
not about who gets picked first at all
but who stands alone
a pink lace pajama-heart & wildfire throne 

Friday, May 3, 2019

chartreuse & blue

swallowed I am
by chartreuse and  blue

in these beams of day
sunlight streams to bones and qualling thoughts
becoming blue
becoming transparent green
holding holding
thrumming to the sounds of wrens & sky
shattering sorrow into a million tiny pieces

turn of the card

the crone's bones become my own
raven-feather-black as december's midnight 
no gradual mutation ... no
it is now 
this ancient hourglass impact 
a single cello plays somewhere to the west 
I tremble at the quake of the redbud's leaves 
quixotic felted breath of breeze
upon skin freckled & creased
where in furrows hide 
regret, loss & redemption 
pale knots of celtic myth & mingle 
as prism'd comes the day
brittle the knowledge of sacrifice
buoyant the joy of love
in these crone bones 

Thursday, May 2, 2019

May Day

the upheaval surprises
did not see the knot of this tangle
threaded of nettle & pine
able to hold the two strands apart
sand-bar in a stream
two strands not touching
the slightest cut of grief
as if we buried something precious & young
in a sand-bar .... in a stream
this upheaval
this tale
how weathered & unrequited
this is what it is like
this side
of the knot 

Tuesday, April 30, 2019


looking out the front windows to the south
tossing words carelessly around as I try and come up with something worthy
worthy of myself, worthy of your time & attention


my interior landscape is bleak
not cooperating in the least
words pinball thru mind;
carnal love, familia love, intimacy, knowing, trust, ease


the wind shifts
suddenly lifts 
one of the dark motley gray branches of the oak tree
raising it from its resting place into a patchwork section of 
and I see it


in the contrast of this smooth alice-blue sky 
against the tattered & mottled feldgrau of the oak
in the electric alchemy of two things;
the colliding line where energy brings like energy

the cosmic ouroboros completed

humans believe in their whole & their true
when myth & grace teach us blue

fragmented little beasties 

the hungry take  the shiny ones break 
glass upon stone 
as intimate pirates
 ... and when the chains & pulsing tributaries of our soul recognize a smell, a song, a taste of another to 'sing the body electric' home where kisses taste of mandarin oranges & lavender and sex smells of lightening


Contrast alchemy;
there is no inch of skin too sacred, no word too tender or too wicked
it is the narration of a very individual story 
told in the contrast & collide of open hands upon warm waiting skin
it is the give & take
the surrender of self to take in
to fuck stars & dazzle your own soul with peace and presence and the unchartered understanding of another exhausted transcendence as it follows one steps back to self, to earth, where separation can be another set of contrasts; full to empty, happy to void, fractured to circled wholeness

the closer to the fire one stands, the more insane the remainder feels


and that becomes a rub pull the alchemy into your soul
allow it to shift awareness 
to lean towards life with more of everything

that thread becomes the axis
holding the thread becomes your being
your seeing 
to carry the connection thru to the ordinary hours becomes your religion

If you falter, let go 
well that is a dark companion that is hard to fight
hard to quell its stench and temper tight 

So hold on
let the silver & mercury 
mix with sulfur & gold 
allow the richness of knowing to cool against the dark
guard against the numbness 
staunch the flow of blood from that gaping wound 

the collide

That rugged line of gray against the smooth alice-blue 

Alchemy love. 




                           b  l  o  o  m  

Monday, April 29, 2019

between the roof & blue

dappled sunlight
no warmth brushed upon gray bones
with a smoothness belying the dark
wind steeps the heart
to wild

parsed into the folds of memory divine
tinkers with the edges
until they are worn thin
by love

in moonlight
I sit amidst the shooting stars
of galaxies unknown
knowing this is made
in breath & bone
to beam wild
this heart

Sunday, April 28, 2019

Sunday at five o'clock

this here
expectation perched as a wren upon spring
stilled story written between the spaces of a day

this here
fingers tremble on words dashed
floating past as skiffs of sun

will I be happy when it's done?
will I be content with the measure & mirth
of this here

whiteness tempts with its swallows of time
sucking every numbed & nuanced line
of this here

will I respect the pause, the rhyme?


this here is bleeding out in vapid technicolor
its emptiness

this here
is nothing or all
black is black upon this white page
beckoning with impossible lips of the wren's song

Spring's call

Saturday, April 27, 2019


In April when yet seem'd it the winter still
proud Puck did wonder and play at his spring
white vermillion drawn in every thing
bird's pied-flowers heavy with sweet spirit deep
lily's pluck tell of figures hue
or they dress'd nor sweet and nor different
absent in you of the summer's shadow story
tell me, smell the odour of that sweet rose with a youth
as I did trim from you all the delight
nor yet have I been in the lap with these
that and them
hath I make him nor any that lays in the praise
laugh'd leap'd away from him where
they were but of you
they grew
could Saturn make your pattern of all those after you

Friday, April 26, 2019


It is the season of wisteria,
watching for a greening, emergent tendrils of twining stems violet.
it is the season for waiting,
listening to winds shifting from north, to south and back again.
Cool-warming in this season of waiting.
Wisteria mysterious spring spell-caster.
Your seed pods a purple bane bright against the sun.
It is the season for the duality of the greening, emergent
energy binding to winter's traces. Wind bracing comes
carrying dust & delight & dandelions in drifts of
greenish growing scents. Senses explode in the conscious
wait & wonder of the season of wisteria, watching the shadows of
the day dance
against the sunbeams of warmth, waiting, watching for
Day dance, night entranced.
Conscious, curious expanding green,
demanding attention to the twining, the bine
of the bloom & the vine.
It is the season of wisteria.
It is the season of more.

Thursday, April 25, 2019


dancing upon my skin
dust motes bite upon cardamon bones 
jeweled glimpses of always


the pace & breath of now:
yellow shirt
plaid mini skirt 
untucked hope
yearning to collide against 
1,440 minutes 
summer's blossom 
sun thirsting
thunder bursting 
windows down
to Springsteen, Dylan, Taylor 
hand tucked beneath your blue jean leg 
forecasts a succulent promise 
your skin drips vanilla-nutmeg 
upon my tongue 
capture me for twenty-four hours of a brand
new day in summer's heat 
lemonade cooling 
slow moving 
green grass wafting to welcome 
backs arched 
arms grasping 
breath barely lasting 
listening to crickets
under a firefly strawberry moon
we drink
we laugh 
we do
every every 
sweep sweep sweep  
of the second hand

can we slow time's sweep?
can we cherish the sunbeam of breath deep?

before we know--molecules slow
the rising scent of earth & forecasted autumn rains
awash in apples crisp falling
calling the cooling 
richness clasped to clary sage 
leaves they turn brown, red, gold
suddenly cold 
chilled to winter's gifts--
bracing wind to arms embrace 
snow leaves a trace 
to these 1,440 tick-tocks of Fleming's clock 

take in without clinging
taste all--celebrate touch 
collide beyond breath
-not asking much- 

these stolen daydreams 
shadows & light 
sun returns 
fire & chance


Wednesday, April 24, 2019

finding Norma

between Cather's Later Novels and Scott's
Lady of the Lake
it rests in red
dog-eared 1954 Webster's New World
wanting to cheat the assignment and

that seems a simple benign thing

I resist
and buy-in to the task
I flick to
consubstantiality consultative consolatory cont.
page 316-317 Cs
being of a trinity--being an abbreviation for things in, without and to come
but it is the illustrations
one on each page square
white on black
(northern hemisphere)
(southern hemisphere)


I become
from Piscis Austrinus to Ursa Major
Cygnus, Lyra and Cassiopeia
then back again sailing across printed blackness so captivating
Ophiuchus to Orion
Coronia Australis & Sagittarius
Phoenix to Hydra
but suddenly
there sits Norma


a small constellation in the southern hemisphere
lying between
Ara & Lupus

breath stilled
am stunned a bit
as I am becoming my own refuge as a wolf these days
settling into the soft spot amongst stars & men
stripped of feathers & fear
opal magic is present in this morning hour of eight o'clock
amidst the birds & sun & red dictionary
this solitary sanctuary

the name of my mother
born this day in 1926

Tuesday, April 23, 2019


somewhere between the risk & the rain
traveling down
palomino highways
replete with tambourines & woolen blanket red

fast faster fastest

fueled by awareness, apples & Antares
the Milky Way illuminates the night
drowning out the buzz of tilting plants & thunder
burned out & left in a million shallow graves
nuggets of dreams & leanings dot the blurred space between
marked by harvested fields, deer crossings & pinwheels

flying along on the ghost horse


primal magic groundless & infinite
strength this constant accordion of movement
intention unspoken
we ride
we become
as the rain comes down harder making choice immediate
serenity fleeting as a glimpsed electric golden portal flashes
once, twice
defined & aligned with intent
purpose is murky & the way is overgrown with reeds of rust & linen
a mordant algorithm of aqua-depth & stars
purpose exists to be found or it is just a buckled paisley regret
the ride is relentless & the scope of beauty & possibility endless

time is everything & nothing

somewhere between pumpkin creek & morning
beneath a ponderosa pine we pause
wrapping the blanket & scent of night us about us

to wait out the rain

Monday, April 22, 2019

beekeeper's lament

gossamer thread worn thin-holds fast
beekeeper's gather by the hidden deer track
willow creek bends to the rising wind
over the hill--and back again

stretch a new canvas a thousand feet wide
pinned & buckled by snowy owl's cry
two broken barns it flies between
gesso'd white by flying machines

paint a landscape thick & true
inked with blood and certitude
fiddler plays long into night
when thunder comes--the fire burns bright

beekeepers & minstrels gather to flame
lovers & poets weave a gambled game
a path is taken, a fable begun
white-birch firelight & sunflower rum

spring's storm becomes the canvas--becomes midnight
plein air painting--blue-gray acolyte
frosted river echoes cranes descent
this glen-this tale-our beekeeper's lament

gossamer thread worn thin holds fast

beekeeper's dance

Mary Linnea Vaughan - artist

Friday, April 19, 2019

fledged burst of ....

Alacrity belongs cinnamon dulcet
eager filament given
holy incandescence
jumping knowing listening
unshaken velvet wholeness

Thursday, April 18, 2019


I should have known
as I did take note of the bold outline of each moment
the slender fragility of his body
the sharp tang of a hospital room
      its crisp sterility contrasted to night

we watched ER together

an episode titled 'Homecoming'
he really liked Dr. Greene

crawling next to him in the narrow bed
we lay pressed and still
the white waffle blanket was so stiff-starched
      its brightness such a contrast to the night

his legs were ice cold-so very cold
I love him so


that hole remains infinite
yet finite its missing

I don't remember driving room that night
but he died early the next morning
drinking coffee on the edge of his bed

just like that

      his love such a contrast to the hollow loneliness that shadows my days

Wednesday, April 17, 2019

...from the hackberry tree

she sits 
within that box removed from weather & the weight of sky 
by an energy that I feel in wires strewn from pole to box to pole again 
about this street this town this place 
curious how much she thinks 
not knowing how observed she is 
we all watch 
we discern her wonder 
how much we know how much she sees and doesn't yet see 
what's that like--the taunt stretch of smoothness over bones 
the upright movement so deliberate & designed 
what is the objective to her days 
where does delight lie 
I think she is sad yet oddly content with that 
oh!  how she does take note of changes in our song 
in the color of morning 
in the approach of the coming storm 
this one spring dawn 

I think she would like my feathers 
and my freedom 

Tuesday, April 16, 2019


It enters without being asked
It is welcome regardless
It angles differently from every glass
It sits momentarily at 45°, 30°, 90°
It is always a moment by moment thing
It is relentless in its discipline
It is soft sometimes blinding sometimes reminding
It illuminates time illustrates seasons
It is all colors mixed
It will prisms just right
It is truly actually white!
It is energies wilding
It is streaming in brightening
It is life beguiling
It warms, it fades
Dawning Sun--Break of Day

Monday, April 15, 2019



so easily it consumes me
this heaviness I can not shed
weight draped upon my shoulders as a winter woolen cloak
smothering heaviness at every step
this machinery of being
electric rivers of wind
such play in the connection of morning to movement
to this intoxicatingly new april air
I am

so I will rest
rest & wait
for the warmth of this day to come

Sunday, April 14, 2019


sweet this day done to dwell
tucked to corners break drawing close
sight unseen to wait to weight
poured as this golden one blew
to dun sun golden
suite no. 1 in e minor
oh wren!
oh site of mercy's blueness won
to blossom when once bloomed
to spring's wind
in a thousand winding ways

this day

Saturday, April 13, 2019

accendo cendere cendi censum

Crawling from the hollow
      below sternum
my heart creeps out to
weather alone
unseen against the backdrop of dark forgiveness
coyotes circle
enchanted by the odor of licorice & gravity
to right hip
carried there by the remembrance of feathers, flight
pinching cinching between
green glass panes
the thorns of winter's if 
slowly slowly
dripping into the marrow of a raven's thigh
heavy the sharpness
throbbing the spell
coyotes circle

Friday, April 12, 2019

waking dullness

my cleverness is mounted over the bed like antlers
majestic curved & shocking
to some

while tucked behind the door to the bath
curls my genuine

hard to catch as it slips between
impersonating a dust bunny
and a spring moon

this morning
as a single eastern towhee sings upon the hackberry tree
the antlered cleverness drifted out the door and rolled west
apparently needing more winter
while this trickster uncurled itself from behind the door
and asked for a cup of ginger tea

its boldness surprises me
no more
its slender glimmer
its voice melodic & soothing
fierce shyness easing
into luminous blue

the tea steeping
its uncurled dusty-moon form shifts
once more--
a prism'd light of hyacinth
and a blue jay's song
waiting for tea on a friday at dawn

we are awkward & unsteady together
but we are
waking to the quiver of brilliance

Thursday, April 11, 2019


sand--water moonstone born
strawberry feathered
irish lace sworn
captain kangaroo
books & clocks
gingham dress blue
richness drawn in roses briar
tomatoes stretched to summer's fire
hands that hold
longing told
while sorrow burns its hole
scotch-on the-rocks
velvet innocence
Kipling's equinox
tapped trimmed & tied
sacrifice tried
rocky mountain high
survived to scars & brokenness
found in emptiness
phoenix'd from ash
sand-water sworn
moonstone born


The rock rocking
translucent black cherry tangerine
growing to burst upon verdant richness
shelled path
heather rolling
meadow-grass fields
primrose & helleborine
shetland mouse-ears
black rock
suspension over dark river boiling
wilderness wildness disappears
Sgurr Fiona and the Corrag Bhuidhe of the An Teallach
he comes draped & known
of a name not my own
a winter wolf dark & burnished
sternum cracked wide
Polaris lies inside
sweeping embrace of night's sky

so loved on this side
emptiness becomes the present crown
nothing ever to fear
abide Gallizenae

Wednesday, April 10, 2019

dry spell

indigo dipped
forgotten fragility in buffalo flannel
tucked and tattered to the nines
by this blustery relentless wind awake
eviscerated by Bosch dreams serpentined & threaded blue
who was I before this day how
did I relinquish myself to the whims of weather
and men
who was I before you
is there a before or just an after
where is the river to our place behind love's door

indigo dipped
wind stilled for now
for now
fuck the wind and the weight of grain and golden sun
I am born ruby apple delicious
and empty
except for these fractal particles of history and
ah, this wind
put it in your pocket--save it for a rainy day
moments like these gleam with drala and fates design
winds of change

raining now

miraculous how that changes

Tuesday, April 9, 2019

Hollowing Things

One awaits the break of day in the quietest of houses where there is a lack of love, imagination and hope. Birds begin to awaken but their chirping songs bring only an interruption from a daydream of
mountains and majesty.  From somewhere to the west a dog barks in a lonely way. The coffee has grown cold and I am already too weary to walk to the kitchen for more.

No word from him and I am oddly fine with that.

A harsh winter has left the ground raw and brown. It will take some effort to find spring.

I miss carrying the smallness of him from room to room searching for ninja turtles and scary things. Longing to be somewhere I'm not.

These pants have holes.

Waiting for eight o'clock to make a dreaded call. Birds sing, morning dawns along with a forecast of
storms. I don't care.

I long for a nap upon a mountain, I long to carry him with me as we walk beside a river warm.
I will always remain even when there is no word.

The sun hides behind layers of haze and clouds.

Monday, April 8, 2019


In the pre-light hours of day
unwrinkled & still
comes the first spark of joy
of one then two
followed by multitudes waking
robins, wrens, gold finches, cardinals & crows
in their ancient bird tongue
the chorus rises in the brightening
sparking joy in their audience of us humans

who wish for feathers

Sunday, April 7, 2019

all objects rise vertically from the horizon

holding two things in hand
palmed and present
of weight and measure
discernment's cost
empty the field
meager the crop
lean to the lonely
rise to the sky
become the sorrow
become the cherry pie
holding two things
symmetry's requiem
velvet cage
swift flies the sparrow
reflexes fast
sun in your pocket
tender contrast

Saturday, April 6, 2019


don't know when it happened exactly

~ which hour of which day ~

the palatable exubruance & thirst for sun 
gave way 
to a lament for the moon

my movement
my being 
my hours 
quiet unruckus'd preparation
ducks-in-a-row clarity 
corners cleaned of cobwebs 
piles of life linear with logic 
dust swept devotedly 
from the totem objects of my accumulation 
flannel smooth
moonlight quickening 
tassels trimmed & pressed 
set free from lingering gypsy dreams

as if

should the wind be just right from that place of sun 
well then ... 
everything will be

as if 

I was never here 
or maybe 
my departure will come with
no burden
no adjustment 
or maybe 
I am just merely passing thru
pausing here

as if

just the right 


dawn's cooling

moist with dew
neighborhood streets fill with the fog
of a possible sun
open portals
while trees tremble imperceptibly in their worship
shadows tucked in the back of a blue jay's throat
gray and timeless
gray and ageless
light begs for admittance into this morning's kingdom of clouds

this moment
vaporous magic


of sixes & sevens

I lost my anger in the corner pocket of table six
or maybe it was in june of '68 ... in the red cadillac on the way to the parade
better to be invisible under stars & wooden desks
than to be seen for a creature dressed
in cyan & tattered sensitivity
able to absorb sunlight at a rate greater than or equal to
the speed of light
I am forgetting my mother's middle name:

anger was eaten with violets for breakfast in june of '68
just after my mouth was washed out with soap for saying "shitshitshit"
merely imitating the song of meadowlarks eating violets for breakfast

give to me your feathers & your strength
your wit & whiskey-wisdom orange paisley'd
of pine & sunshine & tomatoes

I lost my anger curled up behind a sofa at midnight
wearing flannel pajamas & watching the world in black & white
roll past
on a radio flyer
sunshine me home life oh life
sunshine me home to the corner pocket of table six
touch my cheek
I am my mother's name

Friday, April 5, 2019

coyote of the cactus moon

While she was somewhere being free
of unremembered skies and snows
of petals from some magic rose

no regrets coyote!
my tears are like the quiet drift
she was somewhere being free

while the sun is ascending
for eternity
of petals from some magic rose

she only means to please them
all my grief flows from the rift
while she was somewhere being free

in the middle of nowhere
there's no comprehending
of petals from some magic rose

so tremulously like a dream
it would crumble
while she was somewhere being
free of petals from some magic rose

Thursday, April 4, 2019

The stars cannot rearrange themselves in the sky

weighted gray morning
haze dims edges hard line
north wind warning
cottonwood's silent anodyne
no translucent moon
no sun rising bright
merely this quiet room
waking from hollow's night
Sisyphus these hours
these minutes to spend
pushing hopeless ivory towers
uphill to life's end
tick-tock strikes twilight

Wednesday, April 3, 2019


of fire brimble, ghosts & dogs
to seek respite before the dawn
grows regret from murky depths
rise from folds velvet sighs the breath
be quick!
fleeting we touch our shine
be quick!
the hawk will dive & dine
linen bones forgotten lore
solace echoes from the open door
what seeds may fall
what dreams may come

of atmosphere gimlets, brambles & grace
passing cars--tempting fates
anger buried in knots pink & brined
next to heart's bruised crinoline
be quick!
sit sit sit
before the shrine
be quick!
cooper's hawk's forgotten valentines
moonlight lingers
day awaits
hyacinth green & crocus fingers

be quick!
to what end this enterprise?
long the day--brief the night
viewed from this bended rhubarb light
why the hurry, why this press for time?
a fool's quickness love's secret rhyme
be still!
we have ten thousand years and a day
to hold the space
to steal fear's play
what seeds may fall
what dreams may come
meander thru the morning's hours
of lullaby bones & silver bowers
be still
we are sky's vast template
be still
no hurry
just allow
the breath the pace of here & now

Monday, April 1, 2019

one day

in the afterglow of the remove
in the silence of simmered things
nine hundred & twelve days
a blackbird came calling
what season was it?
winter with frost thick upon old glass windows?
are blackbirds here come winter?
what was the air like?
was it the neutrality of spring, not cold nor warm but laced with storm's forecast?
blackbirds are thick in spring
not the hot closeness of summer
not the smell of apple-pressed-autumn
winter or spring then
or some undiscovered season
one that belongs to the lost and found
and blackbirds
a tumbling bite/bliss declared submission
to self
a rounded larimer blue self
quivering to darkness & light
what damn season was it?
brightness of day illuminating
innocence transforming
heard within the
faceted amber understanding born of...
ah! spring!
with its forecast of thunder & surrender
spring then
a blackbird calling
uncovered beneath the translucent sinking moon of morning
tell me blackbird

why do I remember this hour so?

the how of finding self in the debris of self on a monday in april

Sit be still and breathe while sinking to earth rising to sky breathe allow the body's contrast the mind's ramble breathe the vastness of this day the blue the gray sit be still with the pain and trauma of your thousand years sit don't turn away from the sting of despair listen to its tremor feel the pressure of its rip breathe and sit know you are safe know you are full of the world know your own significance is greater than your trauma sit with hurt insight ripens  compassion drifts in on the breath buds of understanding bloom violet breathe know trust breathe discover the joy in seeing without adornment presence without confusion self without shame you are more than your trauma the blue the gray ten thousand marigolds bursting forth from your heart more than breath and bone and bruise breathe sit and risk the knowing open to the song of spring's birds at dawn open to the glow of this morning sky and depth of day open and be home 

Monday, March 25, 2019

remember that time at the river

wake at the first crack of sun
call the crows and cranes
sip the whiskey
pour the earl gray
paint me with your words
balm to those who chase the line
the thunder and the rain

damn these feathers and wind
damn the morning light!
lifting me away

contentment tucked against cerulean slumber
dreams and dancing to the scent
of bonfires

and love

piercing sweet temperance hollowed
as this storm reaches the river
just as cranes
land to water and grassland wine

innocence disguised as complacency
in a rising time, waking line
separations torment

come back thru the lightening
come back thru the gathering storm
clouds black rolling east
lifting me away

wake at the first crack of sun
calling to cranes and crows
of a morning parting
from the slumbered

lift me away

Tuesday, March 19, 2019

diamond amygdala . . day #30

* i remember what it's like to be a child when your world is azure & possible.  creating tiny worlds with tiny hands pony-tailed shiny one, running in fields, running in rivers, running as wind in May, feeling alien, feeling special & wonder-filled, feeling the touch of my father's hand, touching the sun, diving into every story, diving into summer's water, exploring every crack in the pavement, cowboys & indians, ready or not, here i come

* i remember … mountains.  the scent of pine filling me, lifting me with purpose & home, knowing the mountain was inside me . . creating a rocky, stone-strength, a god-force of sacred connection to stars, earth & wild iris.

* i remember what it's like to be crazy, so fucking crazy that i didn't know if i was staying or going, alone, apart, broken or together with clothes all matchy matchy & hearts all matchy matchy and there, there that little gorgeous baby-girl-child is depending upon me - depending upon me for everything but mostly for love love love is a many splendid thing but why am i so empty and low & hollow & alone & where is everyone going and what will i do here without them without them without them and stop me from crawling upon my hands & knees to hide under the desk.

* i remember what it's like to be whole.  when every shadowed corner is filled & sparkling with diamonds, suspended in timeless fragility, as my heart petals open - exposed to elements organic & true, smelling like an azure childhood, tasting like
iris-honey & you . . 


of haven & hazard
herion & home
blue sky brightness tucked to shadows weight
fortune's wheel
turn of fate
what havoc wrung from stars & clementines
while intimacy burrows its seed beneath the tremble
my skin belongs to your skin
yet my bones are my own
foraged white by fire & river stones
you are my addiction
my indifference
pledged to gravity
born of grass & tenderness
beneath a prairie night sky a thousand years ago
a thousand years bound to moon & mallow
magic & myth
regret lies heavy as a black walnut's thigh
pressed between the pages of letters & mercury
silver cooling
warmth enfolding
holding two truths within the sparrow's nest

Monday, March 11, 2019


i step aside--into the corner of this waking dream
surrendering all sense of line
allowing my captive self to linger 

voracious--blurred by shadowed edges grey
intent upon the breaking of the glass mask and tower walls

no weave of fabric holds
no structure 
you circle my breath
following the maze of electric borealis 
as the mandrake bores into the damp earth of waiting 
base of spine 
the blending fuck of scorched souls arching into this mandarin moment
pressed and open 
hanging taunt with hands upon my back
chaos melts
fractal light bends into the surge of heat and saged ache 
for the wash and rush of sacred water over the tattered silver edges 

from my corner 

i quietly watch--blinded by the collide
quenched by broken delight
winter white intimacy