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

Contented
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

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

II
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
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
hugeness
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,
restrictions

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

Do the hawks love me
like i love them? Stopped in awe
they return my gaze.
Do the trees see my beauty
like i see theirs? Receive love.

on a fog beach day
she is horizon line light
between sky and sea

Watching wishes &
washing my heart
with its longing

Gleaning street lit night
avenues for wisdom amidst the littered
thoughts and forgotten beliefs
that tumble down midnight sidewalks
with scraps and trash. I
beg the wanderer for her insight
and ask the widow for compassion
searching street lit moments
for my body, something
only starlight reveals.
& yet the moon and her children
are concealed by city light
illuminating instead
the shuffling leftovers of madness

The quiet concrete
filthy with its ignorance
of night sky.

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