Our woodlands have shared a similar hillside.
Together we have seen many seasons turn to the next.
We will surely see many more turn the same.

May our growing together always bear the sweetest fruit of peace
and love.
May the seeds of those fruits be scattered
on every ***** of our mountain,
and whisked by the river to distant meadows.
May we as family watch them sprout and bud,
and may the future forests be scented by their flowers,
falling in the autumn and swept to the sea.

in the steady stream
          the felled leaves
resting        away

~~~~~

noticing the cold
                       dead fire

~~~~~

opening a shut room
shadows jump!
     candle shivers

~~~~~

firework concussions
sound overhead

~~~~~

the edge of the ocean
looking out at the fog

~~~~~

thru the beer glass
hand gestures   magnified

~~~~~

Grandfather
patting the baby's back
                                   burps

~~~~

singing saw cuts the silence

~~~~~

white Lion's Mane mushroom
tendrils on the knife

~~~~~

flowers in a vase;
reconcile death

In the midst
of happenings,
poetry flowing
thru the feint vein
of my far-away loving you;

Always;

Life-line to the time
we've twined together;
at night i find the words
and write the weather;

Spinning system storm-front,
the seconds endless passing;

Forever is ever beginning
in your arms,
in my mind;
I'm singing
in the hope
you can hear
me from here.

her face
wreathed in
rainbows

thru this portal
seeing beauty
in the world

thru the prism
in the window
broken sunlight

There is no spirit in spirit,
   as there are no drops in the
                                                   ocean,
                                             one body.

     Only in the turbulence do we see
          the ghosts, phantom shapes
             of separation.
              (Kami sparks from the Fae fire)
    In those shadows cast from the
  splash, (wave of the I, the Id swimming)
are them born of a name.

     Here, I find myself in form,
              in a constant change and decay,
              a flame mapped shade
               on the mirror walls of consciousness,
        in the fade, eternal emptiness
               of the endless breath i'll never catch..

                      and again inhaling.

waking up

the sojourn
is a return to who we truly are

if the universe is a love song
let us go on singing

if the universe is a story
may we listen, laugh and cry
and at the end
may we all
go to sleep

No flowers
in the December
cement cracks,
but still the multicolored tatters
of plastic reflect the sun.

No usual haunts
in the city
of my grandfather.
Alone with so
many faces
of those I will
likely never know.