LOOSE LEAVES

Prisoners wriggle free

from the pages

of a foreboding folio.

Hope is unscrupulously

erased from a dispiriting

season. Exposures

are laid bare 

in the broad and darkening

daylight. Laundry's

hung out to dry

in a chilling air. Still

possibility is a nest

that's only woven 

from what is gathered

from leaves

and shadows

and what lies between

surrendering and uncertainty

and the mesh that mixes 

our desires with our amnesia.

THE ONE SONG*

hyacinths push 

through the loamy earth

coyote's howl pierces

the darkness around the moon

let’s do our part

let’s take our turn 

at being 

the Guzla

the singer 

and the instrument 

who through 

a single string only 

braid pain 

and beauty 

into one 

solemn note

one ancient song

one epic story

that holds all of us

now and always

*Inspired by Mark Nepo's book, Seven Thousand Ways to Listen

A VEIL OF TEARS?

A commotion of leaves

after the season’s first

honest rain. Or…

are these Soul’s tears

held out as supplications

to what lies beyond

the veil, from hands

bleeding for a world

less red, from veins

holding out a hope

hued with more kindness,

more heart, and more love?

SECRET SHEATH

I’d like to believe

that the body

is talking to us

all the time.

So when a part

of it goes numb

what do we make

of that? Is it giving us

the silent treatment

or screaming itself

hoarse? I am going to

keep listening. Maybe

I’ll find it’s like

the child who sheaths

 its secret out of fear

in the fascia of a whisper.

A LANDING

A hawk landed 

in my backyard

today. It will stay 

a while. In its

now-still wings

is the memory

of the circles

it traced invisibly

in flight, like 

a wind in fire. 

MORNING PASTRIES

We all know this

from time travel movies 

like Back to the Future...
that if we go back in time

our very presence
will change the future. 

In my dream last night 

there was something

I wanted to go back
and tweak. I realized 

that all I really needed 

to do to make 

the change happen 

was to choose a different 

morning pastry, one with 

a cinnamon swirl instead 

of one with almonds 

on top. I wish life were 

this simple. Maybe it is. 

Maybe using words 

like "they did this 

for me" instead of 

"they did this to me" 

is the difference 

between a cinnamon swirl

and shaved almonds.

 

POPHAM BEACH, MAINE 

In tidal waters 

no deeper

than an inch,

the tiniest

of stars

glide across

a cosmos

of sand. Bubbles are

the many mirrored lens

that shape-shift

the sun into these

swimming, winking

wonders. The miraculous

is all around us

all the time. A simple

walk on the beach

will show us this

if we remember  

to meander

with eyes wide open.