i met men in france
with whom i forever dance

i stumble into freedom
forgetting my own pants

and when it seems there’s nothing else
“come on home”, sing some plants

as for love? dream and dream
let there be another chance

its everything dark
and its everything light

its everything wrong
and its everything right

its all that we are
beyond our own sight

This is a poem for the Blackwater
       of your being
where death lives
       beyond your seeing
and the white swan floats
       above your keeping
This is a poem for the Blackwater
       which keeps you breathing

I can’t help but notice
Sunflower’s disregard for words
It is far too busy
becoming

Breakfast for Finch
Beauty for Human
Nectar for Bee

In a jar on the counter
ever so patient
wait next year’s seeds

Where did my last avocado go?

******!



Outside,

The year's first snow

Is falling

In circles

        an infinite universe explored

A heart we have been given

        to need not any more

The last frontier?

         In the body it is stored

An Ocean in the Clouds

          and Stars down the stairs

Go ahead              Sings the Moon

           We’re not going anywhere

“inshallah,
inshallah,”
he would say

“inshallah,
inshallah,
I will return home in May”

and “god-willing,
god-willing,” we say
might the almighty soul find a home
and might this
be that day

The small poem

of your tired hands
your bent back
your hunched heart
and your silent, lurking seed of longing

Feed me that.

The way outward
is inward
say the Ojibwe
Well it is getting late
and I am feeling as if the world wants answers

A flame burns low
and somewhere in the woods a wild
voice rises
through that of the birds
the river
and the wind

It is full of longing, despair and lust
A sightless woman
sings light into the dark
long after dusk

This is not the world as I knew it

And yet it’s all I know

this moment
is as brief as they say it is -
              light rain falling
              on a still lake

this moment
is as brief as they say it is -
              light rain falling
              inviting this earth and its inhabitants
              to wake

                                 to wake

                                                        to wake

Exultation
Elation
Rumination
        This bird-less sky
        shall not ruin my mind
Sun on our skin -- we are more
We are more than what you
Might ever see. Blossom.
        Fruit. And Fall.
A gentle rustle in the leaves

To have done nothing



 and



in so doing




                                               something

Mr. Squirrel
And his twitching tail
Upon the gray roof
Set before the cold blue sky

It is best not to fill your own cup

Is it more beautiful than you?
       Is it more beautiful than me?

Is it more beautiful than the birds?
       And more beautiful than the bees?

Is it more beautiful than the wind?
       And more beautiful than the breeze?

Is it more beautiful than two?
        Is it more beautiful than three?

Is it more beautiful than you?
        Is it more beautiful than me?

crows chase a red-tail hawk
over snow-laden fields
snot blown clear from my nostril

What is “work”?

A
Yellow flame
flickers
in the thin and
dark hours of morning

       Brave souls
       every one of us

some days i wake up
      and all i see is you

so now, i wonder,
       is it me that you see too?

like darling, oh darling
      can you believe this view

goodness heavens, honey
       is there anything quite so true

I dream of you
       and that part of me
forever missing
       forever singing

Do you believe in?

Whatever is not
As we once wanted
As we lose and long
and dream

And whatever is
Which will be missed
In the years to come
As we look back
With a different sort of longing

The fire which burns beside me
Inside me
Around me
And the smoke
Of this day

Which becomes the sky
Just as the ash becomes earth
The breaking of a heart
So to speak

And the mending
Of some cracks
Or Scars
Or a newfound window
To some world
Whose existence

We knew nothing of
Well,
What it is
For me right now
And whatever it is for you, too

May this poem be enough

Enough!

       be it already

                                           a word is a word

                                 amidst many words

Watch this:

        Breath in

        Breath out

                                          And just like that

                              the surface world is digested

Do it fully

                                    and for goodness' sake

             Do it wholly

Gently,
this
is enough

Twelve vultures
seven black and five turkey
Like honey in hot tea
I’m gone in early morning

In Subotica, it was doves
night and day
from the library, the town park
and above the ice rink
clouds glowing pink

“Let there be birds in the poem”
she says

Let there be humans
too
let there be a body
tucked against
another body
let there be hands
moving slow,
here and there
let there be blood
flowing
freely

listen
a mountain dove
is cooing
in the late Winter sun

Find yourself an imaginary friend
Name him or her "Jasmine" or "Mickey" or "God"
          It's been done before

Where would I be if I didn't land
Once or twice a week upside down
          Neck deep in the sand

Smell the flowers if you can
Pick one or two and carry them home
          Put them in water in a jar

Keep them there
And say "thank you"
           To God or Mickey or Jasmine

To Earth even
Love yourself
           And others too

As best you can
And if or when
           Darkness or despair or doubt

Refuse to leave you alone
Seat yourself
            In the Heart of the Woods

And take rest

Which world do these words even come from?
And Who or What answers?
          It could be nothing or no one at all

Rain lands steadily, here, where I am today
bounding upon a thirsty blanket of green
          Mouths wide open

There is music born from loneliness
though I don't find myself wishing such feeling
on anyone or anything
unless
unless it is required of you
unless your imagination is in need of a nudge
          
          In which case
          forget not
          fly nowhere
          escape and run
          from nothing at all

Why do pigs make so few appearances
         in all these poems?

Is it because the flower does not bleed
         when sliced by a knife

And **** does not ooze
         from the backside of the moon?


         Is this not beautiful, too?

What to do with multiflora rose, ground elder
         pachysandra and such?

Perhaps a poem
         needn't be so very much

A cup of tea, some soup
         and something green to touch

A cup of tea, some soup
         and something green to touch

words like “love”
and “fear”
and “loneliness”

on a long road
which does not end

and two feet
which take turns
one
then the other

You see now?


             this blue sky...


Or,


              Red blood.


Perhaps hard


               you need not try