I find a place to return to–
a place to arrive at each day;
to fall in love with the same thing
again, and again

in the wildness; the brutish madness of things
there is a peaceful moment–
ever becoming and glistening:
a place where prayers and morning dew gather

it is here, and it is worth turning from,
worth forgetting
simply for the chance
to return


Poetry–a white fox sneaking:
playful, and when she sees you see her,
she darts–
runs back into hiding in the thickets,
disappears, hardly a trace

but she was stunning
and her dew black eyes saw mine

she was gentle, adoring–

the encounter breaks, ruptures:
lament, mourning

how awful to know the face of poetry
and yet
not get to be near–such longing,
such longing is her source

up in the snow
blackbird, a raven
from top of pine, snow branches
leaps, flies. snow
delicate, dusts down, sprinkles off;
a mist, silent, falls
tree heights to ground.
im home
when the blackbirds gather

Between blinks I thought
myself a wolf with eyes
piercing a snow field, unafraid
and calm in my essential fierceness
I remembered
my tail and my exhale
exposed in white air–
it was the tenderness
of a heart beating in its ribcage;
that blood
red vulnerability sus-staining
the piercing frigidity of my gray
eyes. Blinking I remember
my human-ness

I would have
to write a poem for each waking moment
and every one between
to praise creation enough–
but I would miss
butterfly’s flight, bird’s in-breath,
redwood’s shadow–
to look down
at words and paper.

At times its too beautiful
to witness light changing between
blades of grass or to hear tree’s
silent prayer. In weakness
I look away
to a blank page such as this
and calm my ecstatic heart
with words of prayer,
not of longing, but of fullness–

Either tears or words will flow forth
from inspiration and her source. A
thousand poems a moment
could never express…
Listening deeply to each breath–
it’s all I can do

as a sweet sun-
rise rose
to sit in my fragrant bloom,
inwardly blushing

summer stains spring breeze
arid winds on its
breath sweet, dry
rose scent pressed
onto water starved
California air

questions do not beg
answers, but plea to be seen
as they are, open

i need to take out
the trash. haikus tumble
from tired fingertips

Woman, body neatly packed
into size zero one size fits all magazine
dress, long hair and smiling
My grandmother, my mother, mother’s mother’s all
been on a diet
constricting beauty, restricting plump grins,
disciplining wide hips to fit
into “pretty”
wrinkles, creases of dried out restrictions and fat
I wish she’d eaten.

on a diet to manage
to restrict what we ingest
small and unable to express
food, words limited
into margins

So skinny so
small playing so small as if
I have no appetite nothing
to say. Brittle and widdled
down to standards,

My body, my belly, my mouth
plump and free to eat
to speak to move

Wind is still.
When she comes to keep
moon company,
she sits on the lonely stone
& moon does nothing.

Air sings to her stillness
grass dances, trees wave oaken limbs, and wind
is still, all things move in her presence.
As she arrives, there is
song and dance in the fields and canyons
and across the waters