the life I had
the one unmade
by knots of love
bound and gagged
for all my failings
take the blame
there is no mending
hearts estranged

layers sloughed
to make for new
leave behind
what I can't use
in forgiveness
find recourse
release the tether
of remorse

In the beginning
lovers revel
in newness
creating a map
for future explorations

Time erases novelty
leaving the essence
sometimes strong
often weakened
by familiarity

Could we be this lucky?
Days, weeks, months, years
have not diminished desire
have not reduced love
to senseless rubble

You make me believe
in Fate and Karma
Gentle men
The One
Forever

I ask for strength
to begin again
without remembering wounds
inflicted by barbed remarks
allegedly untainted
not meant to inflame

but my heart believes intention
is the truth that presages
any discerning interaction
words, the concrete bridge
to a reality from which
the soul cannot hide.

Eyes wide
you do not allow
oblivious sleep
shadows branded
on my retina
reveal all contrast
tattooed on my shoulder
a skeletal hand
this illusion  
pins me down

your questions
have no answers
questions remain
asked again and again
I swear
I know nothing

You say everything
is immaterial
subjectively real
ideas existent
in the mind
of the perceiver
I am
(you insist)
a true believer

Parched and shrinking
I ask for mercy
you bring the cup
to my fissured lips
but it is empty
a vessel of air
you murmur
there is only enough
for one
what will you give
in return?

Heavy metal
arpeggios of wind
head bang
petulant faces
inured to rain
a repeating refrain
in falsehood
lies your truth

but even you
cannot halt the dawn
a dark horizon
pulls the strings
powerless
you sink
behind the cloud-
wall of your storm

is it safe now to close my eyes?
three times whisper
be gone
              bright fiend
a weary incantation
spell of protection
the yawning wind
done with howling
hums reassuringly
                            
                       *“a change is gonna come
                                                            ­      imagine
                                                   ­                            peace in our time”

We rise
only to fall
angels
gone to ground
in the sweet loam

honor the bones
let silt become
the raw clay
to re-form
our souls

This morning I am
a Jain practicing ahimsa
weaving meticulously around
thousands of fog-kissed webs
a minute world visible to eyes
no longer willfully blind.

Each dwelling is self-contained
woven into surrounding crabgrass
trees to the tiny inhabitants
crouching cozy beneath
fluttering canopies sparking
rainbows in the lifting light.

Awake to a slowly beating drum
morning meditation drifting up the hill
in the garden, tiny birds add sweet highs
tuneless ravens, the bass undertone
trees whisper ancient lyrics
on the passing breeze.

We stroll the Path of Philosophy
through massive wooden gates
into carefully sculpted gardens
exploring the endless number
of temples dotting Kyoto
each more lovely than the last.

Quiet Nanzen-Ji
is where I feel the most
following worship worn
steps to a cave-shrine
heady with wet
and incense

we are purified
by waterfall spray
before returning
the way we came
voices hushed
buoyed by eternity’s hand.

The hotel lobby is filled
with crimson and saffron
glistening heads and broad smiles
from monks gathered there
we bow to each other and are one
may it never be forgotten

revelers arrive by busload
for hanami, cherry blossom viewing
beneath a revered tree
decked out in pink splendor  
lit from below to radiate
surreal, internal light

we sample Kobe yakitori
soba and corn
grilled over open flame
as we flow
through the smiling
celebratory crowd

we savor
what is transitory
as sparks
and blossoms whirl
settling on
our hair and skin.

**** the witch
hogtied to this
thin-skinned wagon
packed with privilege
call me wicked
if it makes it easier
view my plight
as one of my own making
I should have done
as I was told

Brand me traitor
as dust obscures
this timeworn scene
I know what it means
to be a whole divided
drawn and quartered
dragged to all four corners
left for buzzards
along the walled
deserted borders

scattered limbs
seeking unity
I reach for what’s mine
only to find
healing hands
too tightly praying
too busy manufacturing
high ground
in this time
of righteousness

Label me other
as I diverge
light the skies
with fireworks red
belt patriot songs
I will not mouth
empty words
to an anthem
I no longer
believe in

fallow winter does not bring
peace to the restless soul
finger-licked, waiting
on subtle winds shifting
for the tropical taste
of exotic droplets of rain
a salt-stained remembrance
in this time of dreaming

red-light ladies hatch
in raftered minds
a mass awakening
beneath hardened shell
freedom awaits wings
a collective opening
an essential
transformation

the wind takes
the burnished leaf
with masterful hand
imprints the fall
sweet cream on my lips
burnt autumn on my tongue

narrow potholed roads
long winding switchbacks
blind corners that lead
the chosen to heaven

the rest of us
sinners

rotting slash piles
in a clear cut
fireweed rising
from raw earth

in this land of trees
the forest is forgotten

It is not enough to see
a soul will manifest
what has been sown
immortal purple flame
gnarled roots in stone
the truth of nature
an external blooming
expression of the world

a flourishing vision
voraciously spreads
animating the meadow
with honey-scented breeze
steep slopes sweetened
magnificent blossoms
open lavender wings
to conquer the sky

here the air is thin
windblown seeds
so carelessly thrown
to harsh alpine soil
become willful weeds
persistently untamed
internally unchained
forever wild flowers

He follows
my topography
like a disciple
tracing contour lines
seeking
heaven within
he is the rapture
his devoted hands
take me there.

Years later
muffled like new snowfall
this ash
permeating teeth and skin.

Back then, I was still naive enough to trust
Old Jimmy when he offered to fly me
over the blast zone in his beat-up Cessna
the words Scenic Tours peeling off its purple tail.

His latent appetite would later manifest  
on the ride home in his musty Cadillac
the passenger door dented shut
preventing an easy exit.

That day
gray extended
as far as eyes could see
denuded trunks laid to rest
in perfect unison

we flew
for miles and miles
over nothing living

just ash
permeating teeth and skin
fallen matchsticks
and men.

Missing and regret
veil the morning
the sun's heat
won't break the chill
I seek sanctuary
in the kitchen
dogs at my feet  
vigilantly hoping
I'll drop something

I let them outside
to run and sniff
the frosty folds
for coyote and raccoon
while I take in the view
the Sound so sun-bright
it mists my eyes
blue Cascades beyond
dipped in new snow

I wish to be
that pristine
no footprints
marring my surface
all I ever was
but will never
be again
frozen, buried
gone beneath.

These are not
petals unfolding
and I am not light
but a daydream
drifting

These are not
lips savoring
and I am not night
but the darkness
awakening

These are
reddened skies
and I am but the dawn
a woman
breaking

Neon slash
carved
on the winter sky
your distant warmth
permeates

illuminate
the wild
blackened reaches
of the unwritten
night

embrace
the gravity
of mass
greater than
self

The mirror is not my friend today
It has pilfered my youth
what little beauty I possessed
now softened or erased
by time the healer
time the thief

Raw moments
brand my face
with unedited lines
like pillow creases
that will never fade
from my skin

My eyes are circled black
lids stone-weighted
by what I cannot
bear to witness
sadness is their color
this day

the mirror is not my friend
it will not lie
somber eye to somber eye
the truth won't be denied
*what we have lost
can never be regained.

He is
walking the white line
his arm a repetitious arc
sounding a single tone
timed to the pace
of hiking-boot feet
treading the pavement.

Saffron robes have grayed
over long meditative miles
witnessed by curious commuters
riding the pendulum away
from his purposeful daily counterpoint
the freedom held
in rhythmic ritual

how the mind stills and gathers
in the swinging blur of hand and stick.

I roll the window down
seeking precious solace
as I hurtle past
knowing
he walks for me too
I want to stop the car
fall in behind

feel the timeless drum
the stillness of salvation.

Waves speak
to the shore
in rippled verse
scattered shell
strands of kelp

in the sand
each visitor
inscribes a story
sandpiper, wigeon, crow
raccoon, otter, coyote

I read each one
as I write my own

The thaw begins with a drip,
builds to a roar, subsides to sunlight
prisms playing over every surface

illuminating still-wet velvet wings
maroon and yellow, neon blue
pseudo-bark underneath.

In the clear-cut, pink fireweed
pierces a sky alive with souls
reveling in their last year on earth

sampling nectar with newly curled
tongues while summer degrades
to fall, burrowing in the cool

damp cord of fir put up for winter
awakening in spring, tasting summer
before the reprieve, too soon over

time come to fold
battered wings, to slip free
of this mourning cloak and rise.

Everything heavy
settles
accumulating
as I go about
my external life
like my inner one
doesn't exist

when the tide
recedes
on my knees
in the fetid mud
I will dredge
meaning from
the layers

I wish that I
was filled with stars
intricate, intimate arrays
to guide me to the edge
of myself and beyond

my soul
the brightest
in a unique constellation
of my naming

my love
many-hued nebula
expanding
to fill the void

my losses
supernovas
both beautiful
and tragic

But I am not
celestial
earth-bound
I must navigate

by stroke of skin
whiff of memory
trace of sadness
night vision

rudimentary compasses
in a sea of misunderstanding.

midnight, floodlights
purse seiners packed in tight
anchored on the fragile shoal
shadows play on the white wall
dune grass, needle, leaf of tree
gallows rising from the sea
back and forth the tenders run
salmon gathered one by one
                                      
                                 the struggle and the toil
                                                                      
                                                         the silver flashing fins
                                                                                          
                                                                            leaping from the net

                                                                                            slipping back within

It is the June of no summer
misty margins shift
gray to white-blind
the view is winter
the aftertaste bitter
in a perfumed sea
this shrine
both lovely
and disconnected
serenely denies
the fog’s lies

all is quiet
the Western front
sullenly submits
to relentless
willful weather
I listen only
to the birds
conjure storms
of wisdom
await the lightening
of oppressive skies

from the void
the mountain speaks
the beat goes on
in these desolate peaks

moss covered stacks
of sea floor and mantle
embrace and fold
in metamorphic tangle

stunted fir clings
graying roots exposed
a rocky, barren life
is all this sapling knows

snowcapped elderberry
scale the crevice
where bear and wind
make raucous passage

avalanche chutes
gracefully recline
in verdant shades
to the waterline

lie in the meadow
to calm the chatter
make still the noise
to blunt the clatter

upon the coming
of soft night
undress this silence
angel mine



*I came to a point where I needed solitude and just stop the machine of 'thinking' and 'enjoying' what they call 'living,' I just wanted to lie in the grass and look at the clouds.

-Jack Kerouac

Simoom*, desert wind
from ravaged realms
through spacious skies
bear every sacred grain
to enduring fields
where amber waves
root in the fruited plain
sweet mercy nourish
shed its grace on thee
reveal our good
through brotherhood
from wasteland
to the sea.

It is as important
to recognize
what love isn't
as it is
to know
what love is

mistake not
lust
ego-driven
crush
flash flood
rush

nor need
the kind
that scours
the bones
licks the marrow
clean

not apathy
silent killer
complacent
acceptance
of less than
we deserve

violence
physical
verbal
control
love is never
these

it is
easy breathing
reflexive
vital
doubles down
no surrender

love holds
through heat and cold
sick and old
when age
erases my name
from your memory

I will come to you
fresh every day
someone new
different wig
ravish-me dress
old-lady hot

we’ll have a little fun
with the time left
at least you’ll die
thinking to yourself
*still got it
with the ladies

Eroding brick wall
all that remains
refracted, fading
fishermen shadow
red dawn’s early light

brackish still water
shocked violent green
seeps from the desert
to be subsumed
by an unrelenting sea

restless dreamers rise
muscle sturdy pangas
into the churning tide
seeking quicksilver
at the continental edges

returning boats ride low
the shrinking horizon
race to safe harbor
cold beer on ice
under palm palapas

in the restaurant
a young man
shows off tuna
half as tall as he is
to admiring tourists

like me, seeking
the deep, slow burn
salt, jalapeno, lime
a fitting end to this
unraveling dream

Pueblo Mágico
of “no bad days”
walls of contention
in a fractured land
will never separate us

one margarita, two
another raised in defiance
of those who would try
to confine and define
free-range spirits

the Pacific touches
this contiguous shore
from equator to pole
we could catch
a clockwise current

follow Polaris up North
arrive transformed
magnetically charged
disparate souls fused
together bound

Note the time
by seasonal migration
return of osprey, eagle
each feathered pearl
a moment strung
on the banded necks
of brants and loons
velvet-lined memories
gathered within
my threatened
wild spaces

raindrops find
their way home
watch them bead
on the backs
of sitting ducks
serenely surfing
sibilant waves
silkily filling
oceans within
my tumultuous
wild heart

Breaking clouds, illuminated arrival
a halo surrounds the oldest soul
in orbit through this midnight world
lonely shadow, scattered sky
blessed light to shuttered eyes

sodden fabric
twisted tautly
around a flawed
shaft

perforated drum
tumbles mixed
load damp
and tangled

each revolution
coins rain down
empty pockets
wave surrender

from the eye wall
thoughts of imminent rain
banked clouds assemble
black and ominous
with saturated breath
will not be denied
their time to rage
against the numbness
of each little death

barometers fall
coastal fortification
futile sandbagging
forlorn gestures
against the flood
a tropical depression
jet-streaming blue
wild moon tide
to desolate shore

precipitation
gray accomplice
faithful torrent
stratified walls erode
sodden wood, bone
unbalanced homes
collapse gracelessly
no match for gravity
or the merciless sea

The river
whispers
undulating
in its fertile bed
smooth current
barely a ripple
on transparent silk
spread softly over
algae-draped rocks.

The wind rises
alder leaves bare
silver bellies
to the sun's welcome
blessing
as I count mine
they are many
for I have learned
the value of gratitude.

Fighting what is
leads nowhere
it does not matter
which eddy
pulls me to shore
I have let go
control, an illusion
held beyond all reason
fear, time wasted.

Better to be the leaf
weightlessly floating
then drawn below
caressing stones
worn smooth by time
rising again
to glide unresisting
on the gilded light
of evening.

Lone leatherback cruises up from the deep, pausing on the fragile reef

to feast ancient eyes upon the show, a bright parade laid out below

butterfly couples paired for life, graceful angels in black and white stripe

brilliant clowns and their toxic lovers, a plodding gang of giant groupers

puffers bob like comic balloons, humble gobies on every menu

beaked parrotfish grinding the coral down, in the ears a constant sound

cowfish blowing puckered kisses, sea stars catching fishy wishes

white-tipped, hammerhead, tiger sharks, triggerfish mean bite worse than their bark

untamed unicorns too wild to ride, dogfish snapping, biting alongside

coral trout color-shifting fools, attracting ladies in dull-hued schools

**** headed wrasse rumbling through, thick lips mumbling go get a room

sea horses nod in labyrinth caves, razor-toothed eels lying in wait

if tentacled embrace should be your fate, nudibranchs will light the way

to a place of bliss, none of this can exist, without the builders

coral and algae bewildered, the ways of man egotistical

rising ocean temperatures, carbon emissions, and el Niño

victim of abundant greed, say goodbye to the Great Barrier Reef

so massive is this magical place, one can see it from outer space

astronauts witness its demise, ninety-percent barren, bleached bone white.

I have done time in the prison of the mind

sewed a blue chip on my  shoulder

left the valley to roam and wander

nurtured a black, tormented seed

gave myself over to a blind man's need


I have done time in the sanctity of the moment

stripped down, undone, naked, free

felt the healing waters wash me clean

nurtured a bright, unfettered soul

gave myself over, finally whole

I have become
reticent
each year adding dark
to my lightness
I remember vaguely when
I radiated
it was not so long ago

now the rock
retribution etched
settles solid on my chest
I cannot see
the feather I once was
drifting from this high place
faith the air beneath me

balanced where
edge meets air  
above the green unfolding
alpine jewels reveal
the face
of the goddess
sleeping

clouds seep ragged
a softly closing circle
I am riding
the cloud center
trees dripping
bearded lichen
witness my ascent

an unspoken word
for every hole
drilled in the core
of held beliefs

red-hot mantle
cools by degree
losing its fluidity
silver surface thin

molten river beneath
restless currents
roil and boil
mixing strata

we become
bitter metal
iron hardening
under pressure

Best to absolve
the guilty
to hold pain
overfills the vessel
perpetrator and victim
awash in the same
liquid shame
spill this sorrow
let it become
a drop
in the vast
ocean.

How easy to distill the past
sifting out impurities
so a clean silky edge
will soothe another’s tongue.

Serve up what flatters
spit out distasteful lapses
swallow raw memories  
let them sink

deep into the silted
heart of gray.

The lies we
tell each other,
tell ourselves.

We are all revisionists
editing our histories, omissions
catered to the prevailing
whims of taste and culture

until intimacy unmasks us.

Show me
true beauty
how waves
break the shore
into individual grains
yet each contains
the whole
crystalline universe
reflecting light
renouncing midnight

Leave me not
upon the sand
barefoot and stripped
recounting sins
to the weary wind
return my heart
to loving grace
salt-scrubbed chambers
cleansed of hate
tenderly reborn

let love
rise from this
arid ground
clear water drawn
from a deeper well
with cupped hands
tend the seeds
so we may eat
of the bounty
that rightfully belongs

to no one

Dawn
light just seeping
through slatted blinds
robins begin
their morning song
at full-blast volume
I am awake, listening

hoping you made it
through the wilderness
and are sitting on the deck
with your morning coffee
listening to robins too
or loons calling on the lake
watching the sun rise

you said you wanted
to be lying naked
next to the woman
you love
when you're ninety
I hope to be the one
in your arms

perhaps completely deaf
to the robin's cacophony
and a little
worse for wear
but still loving
each other
just the same.

I have been heedless
reckless in my need
for perpetual motion.

Hours, a blurred periphery
promises like blades
pointed down

in case I stumbled.

In the silence and misunderstandings that separate us
I need to believe there is a place where we can meet
a place of mottled light where the only shadows
are painted by ancient firs who conspiratorially lean
open, welcoming hands down to greet us.

It is a place where all thoughts of judgment and jealousy
are simply too petty for consideration
love being implicit in the moisture of the air
words are unnecessary for our eyes reveal
everything we ever want to say.

Fear and resentment are unknown here
we refuse to recognize them if they slither
into this haven while we are sleeping
restful, innocent, unworried
history does not exist, the moment held is enough.

If this vision were dispelled, my soul could not sustain
reality’s weight.  I would be battered, fragile
as a spiraled whelk on deceptively smooth rocks
splintered by hate and unwillingness
to be as the sea, fluid and graceful, all encompassing.

Will you come with me here?  
Or is the hour too late?
We can meet in this hollow sacred space
and begin again, let loose misconceptions
clouding the life we share.          

The path is faint
trust your weary heart
it will lead us to each other.

He loves
with rapt attention
his nearest neighbor
an unattainable beauty
a temptress
veiled in aquamarine
and evergreen
she has forever been
his only muse

he reaches
invisible fingers
across the void
seeking warm earth
against the bone
chilling blackness
for he cannot
turn to face
the sun

she is breathless
beneath his fullness
her every landscape
willingly unfurls
his forceful touch
swings her tide
from crest to ebb
she can only spin
in ecstacy

she memorizes
each scar
on his luminous skin
for she is wise
to his lunar ways
love that borrows light
to show its face
is surely meant
to wane

fiery crimson slash
on mountain canvas
false beauty above
truth hidden below
how low will they go
to tap the root
sip stolen nectar
to feed their bracted petal lies
protect the precious flower
from pestilence and weather
hummingbirds and hovering bees
take pollen honey-sweet
from the fertile center
spread the stealthy seed

Gather every
tender filament
to contain
your unraveling

weave a new skin
tougher
impervious
to touch

though wanton
ruby lips
scream
desire

let no one
smother
your inner
fire

you will go your way
despite my protests
no use lamenting
what was never promised
the sun rides low the horizon
soon it will not clear the treetops
storms gather in the northern sea
needled wind to scattered seed
hoary frost on yellowed grass
dark leaves in mirrored puddles
a suspended death
crystalline and indeterminate
there is no fire hot enough
to stave off the first chill
of a careless winter
the numb hibernating sleep
soft gray melting days
the desperate wish
to regain summer

The red flower centered
between exotic curled lines
evokes the smell of old Jaipur
the Hawa Mahal ~ Palace of the Winds
where the maharaja’s women once peered
from pink honeycombed windows above streets
overflowing with painted elephants, camels, turbaned men.
A river of color, movement, sound
from red-dust shrouded sunrise
to ember scorch at the horizon line
the desert broken only by the organic rise
of dung and mud-bricked houses sheltered
by one denuded tree, a mirage of shade.

A cobalt hurricane spiral or vine’s end
worn smaller than its origins
its story, the shelf on which it sat
perhaps a fragile immigrant, hand-carried
from the old country by someone’s mother’s mother.
Whole and admired for a century before
its demise, told with regret-laden mouths
mother to daughter, daughter to mother
Oh, I wish we still had that blue bowl
great grandmother dropped
when she heard about Roy
a circle of memory, come to rest
on this distant curve of beach.

The cream and blue striped shard
could be my grandmother’s coffee cup
rimmed brown and lipstick stamped
sip, then drag on the Raleigh cigarette
always attached to electric-tipped fingers.
The cup was most likely broken in the war
that raged until death parted my grandparents
maybe it sailed harmlessly past my grandfather’s shiny
head and hit a rock near the creek, exploding into pieces
a small token of their shattered marriage
a lifetime of regrets carried to the sea
grievance-scrubbed, muted by the journey
this sliver must be handled with care.

The largest fragment found
tangled in the eelgrass at my feet
delivered on a tide of need
at the ebb of an unexpected storm
a perfect cross, soft edges raised
on a rough slab of terra cotta.
The fragile sun had warmed
the worn shape nesting
in my palm like a missing piece
as my restless fingers traced
down and across, across and down

asking questions, seeking answers.

Renegade crows
swagger ashore
lifting unlucky tritons
high into the whirling
wind, dropping them
to the rocks below

shell is rendered
to fine dust
revealing the mollusk
vainly hiding
in the fissured whorl
of what was once

Home

now a splintered chamber
with no exit  
from which to squeeze
into the minute space
between falling
and breaking clean open.