The day after my Aunt Ro died
a doe approached within a few feet
as if confused about where she was
and what she should be doing.
I could neither comfort nor advise her.
I let her be not considering until later maybe
I had witnessed the transmigration of a soul.
But in the end I applied Ockham’s razor—

you rarely see what you believe.
A mile further along my morning stroll
I was greeted cheerfully by a flock
of cedar waxwings I always consider it a blessing
to encounter. Such social, amiable beings
I hope Aunt Ro will join, so sure are they of who they are—

The seasons have changed
People have moved on
My sky will never fall

From sun to sun
The sand grains keep running
My steps are burning

The wind blows hard
Rivers flow into the ocean
My feelings are wrapped in questions

Buds become flowers
White refracts color
My hopes are painted with a crown and honour

Today is hazy and miserable
Tomorrow, at the top of the golden ladder
Wait there,  I'm the winner!

The only imperfection is the mirror.
The only way the reflection is the same
is if you believe it.

He asks me if
I believe in angels
And before I realize
I don't have the heart
To tell him, I tell him
"Not Lately.."
And just wait
For him to hate me

But he doesn't
Know how to
So he never does
Loving like a man
In the time
Before God gave
Man religion and
Left it to them to
Figure out
What hate was

i live in a world
of make believe it is my
life or so it seems