Sunday in Her Garden
Black opals shining in sunlight, jewelry she wears like a name. Is there a spell she could say, she wonders, that would have his love last? He gets close but grows elusive, wild cherry tastes fading fast, prisms of color, scents mingle with roses. She feels her heart shine on him like sun rays going out- ward, always giving to him, risks she always takes with him, for him. Hot stones, rocks, under bare feet tear at her, hold her back—retreat. The sweet pea scent of the air floats softly through her hair; she prays, hushed prayers, his name often on her...
Read MoreTaking It In Almost
Didn’t you just catch yourself almost tipped too far to jerk back? Just— almost—like Li Bai out of his boat, reaching for the moon’s reflection, just that one embrace? It’s nailing Jello in place. It’s hugging clouds. It’s finding that Brigadoon instant again. Look, over there. This time, lean in. No. Lean out . ....
Read MoreLingering Scent of the Divine Light
for Agnethe and Jorgen For two minutes that felt like all of my life, after lunch with friends on the Serena stone terrace of an ancient farmhouse near Siena…soft syllables of voices floating on languid Tuscan light…all my desire to know surrendering to the hymnic drowse of Cicadas in the long grass…all thought buried in the Bells of Buonconvento rising from the valley below…brown- eyed Sunflowers chasing the sun that saturates everything in its color…the mind sliding away on revenant waves of unbound light and the stillness of love that multiplies the self, embracing me like some...
Read MoreParticles of Me
Blake discovered the world in a grain of sand, and I am now among those grains, tossed from a blossoming, pale sweaty, soft palm into the darkening surf; my last wishes. I am dissolved within the seaweed and misty, salty air, deep within a child’s sand castle slowly eroded by the high tide; particles of me mixed with coconut oil rubbed into the brown skin of a Brazilian beauty, more of me still at the bottom of a black Labrador’s joyous day of digging. Particles of me follow the rhythm of the tides, taking me on a journey into the deep green and blue ocean currents leaving behind the...
Read MoreHigh Mountain Melt in Wyoming
comes like the evergreen motion of spring, makes this boy who lives twenty five miles from anyone his age, his own best friend, makes May’s bright blue air…red pools of water on red-dirt roads and a mud dirty dog running beside him biting the air in celebration, his reason to be in this sense- drenched, sun-warmed spirit of the earth in revolution… sharing the dog’s delight to be alive, singing it in the endless soprano...
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