can I sit with you?
not too close
just over here a little
I want to see what you see
I'll only rest my eyes on yours a moment
before I look back to the horizon
tell me
some private history that amuses you
let me hear the bravado in your voice
as I imagine great adventure
lean closer
so that your hand nearly brushes mine
as you paint pictures in the air
your wry smile
wreaks havoc with my heart

night fades in
teasing and taunting
rest seems to be elusive

I whisper
come to me then
wrap yourself in my arms

lay your head so close
you might lose yourself
in my dark places

stars still shine somewhere
songs swell in celestial harmony

eyes closed
your lips trace hills by touch
and memory

longing swells slow motion force
arms wrap around now
strong arms

and I lose myself
in dark places somewhere
in the middle of you

rising and falling
through moon and mis

Resolute
stood the mountain laurel
on the little hill.
Steadfast
held her leaves of green
to the noble sun.
And came along the little Bee
curious and bold.
His whispered words
of Trembling pulses
Yielded forth the prize.

It's something about
dreams I can't remember
when my mind rambles on
running through hidden rhythms
looking for something greener.
It's something about
meeting you there in the mists,
in-between natural conversation
and forgotten memories.
Having known you
and lost you and found you,
I still grieve those vacant hours
always harder before the rain comes.
It's something about
the way you hold my hand--
I'm sure of it--even if,
I can't remember how it felt

and if the rhythm
punctuating my day
feels just like an unseen heart
beating between
my two trembling hands
{maybe it was a forgotten song . . .}
I am still left to wonder
at the comfort felt
when your imagined hand
brushed back my hair

Your loss must have exploded from your heart.
I heard that small, still voice of longing as the ash
settled from the sky --
melancholy floated over the hills on the wind.
I tried to catch the emotion in a mayonnaise jar
like those lightning bugs when we were little--
But, I never thought
and it turns out that the holes in the lid were too large.

I was sorry to see your grief set loose
from my childish jar
to lose a thing and then lose the sadness--
to be doubly bereft.
I expected the feeling to have floated
halfway across the country by now . . .
and, yet, there it still is
draped around your shoulders
as if to keep you company on lonely nights.

Poetry is a place
outside
under blue skies
breezes trickle by
clouds wink
hills look on

Poetry is a place
where I am more than the chains
that bind me to my desk
during lunch
I'll slip them off with my shoes
arrive barefoot
and free

I am a plain brown bird
singing off-kilter
through the darkness.
I wonder at your tribute
as it wafts upward
on these cold nights.
Those words make me stronger
than I am.
My heart flutters
at the starshine heat.
May be
I will fly

When I was young, my grandmother would tell me stories
about her grandparents.
There were stories about the origins of the universe.
Legends that connected me to my world.
Embedded in the stories were admonitions to live a worthy life.
Sometimes, when I walk out with my daughter to pick berries,
I think about those lessons . . .

Mama, we have to pick all the blackberries so the bugs don't get any . . .

There's plenty of berries for you, me, and the beetles, baby girl.

I don't like the beetles. See that one?

Where? Oh, look how beautiful and shiny his wings are. . . the beetle respects us. We should respect the beetle.

What about the birds? Do we have to share with them?

Plenty of berries for them, too.

But, why, mama?

Because we are supposed to share with others. Don't eat so many, there won't be any left in the bucket.

I only eat the ones I pick . . .

Alright, girl.

Mama. . . ?

Yes?

Do you want to pick blackberries by yourself now?

Are you wanting to go and play? Go on, then, baby girl.

I know what you're thinking
and I am sorry.
I can't explain.
I don't have words enough for it . . .
I want to be honest.
Bare all to you,
it's just
there's so much weight
bearing on me today.
Too many voices
whispering in my ear,
wanting too many things.
I may avoid your gaze now
but later
the skies will clear again

your words
ran away with me
this morning

maybe it was the fog
creeping in through open windows
til I surrendered

maybe my imagination
was seized strongest
by the first words I met on waking

maybe I dreamed you
only to wake and hear you whisper
*stay close

You aren't the same man
any more.

Your mirror lies

if the reflection you see
hasn't changed.

The weight of hard years
lifts from your shoulders
day by day

and ordinary
miracles are still worked
by extraordinary hearts.

Light shines
so often
from unexpected sources.

I am amazed
at the transformation

Am I real, today?
Hovering somewhere between
the darkness and the light
like a spirit
or a dream
I feel the vibrations
of a thousand
heart beats.
You felt it, too.
And if the heavens tremble,
locked in an invisible struggle
So must we.
The rain was real
but it's gone
now.
And knowing
that you and I and he
all felt the same void
last night in our dreams
suddenly
makes it all seem
less lonely.