Wednesday, September 25, 2013


I’m thinking of that first 
night we stayed in your bed 
until two am
and you walked me to my 
car and I tripped going down the
front steps to the driveway,

the stairs uneven and my gait 
unsteady. You were two steps 
behind – a kind
figure following me down,
listening to me chatter on,
watching me stumble in the dark,
asking if I was ok.

I’m thinking of that now,
somehow chattering 
away at you still.
Do you think less of me
if I tell you: I imagine you
still close behind, a gentle
shadow in the 
unseeable landscape,

watching and listening
as I take another wobbly step
down - away from that night,
away from your bed
and your late night kindnesses,
and into my own 
unfamiliar and necessary deep?

Friday, September 20, 2013


You are every wounded bird
I have ever loved.

Your heart is your broken wing,
and I am tactile, so I must touch.

Your song is your broken heart,
and I can hear you, so I must sing.

Your flight is my destiny,
and we fall in, formed. It's inevitable. 

Thursday, September 19, 2013


I want
to take me

to a place

and wild

a place 

of horizon
and shoreline
and hope

I can see

how I



in the wide

of silence and 

of birds

and sky
and hearts

and free.

Tuesday, September 10, 2013


He cannot make
a place in his heart for you.

You taste the tart and
true weight of that,

roll it about in
your mouth,

under your tongue,
against your cheek.

The tangy juices make you

yet no wrenching claw of despair
grips your being,

no deep pit of agony
swallows you whole. Rather -

this luscious, bittersweet,
golden moment stretches across

a field of all your
moments; so full,

so ripe - you
grab it, and feast.

Friday, September 6, 2013


You look at the calendar.
You are surprised.
It is September 6. 

You haven’t been paying 
attention, you guess.  At
least not in the way that 
knows the day, has it seeped 
and steeped in your being, and 
in the way you go about things.

This happens, you surmise, 
when you spend day after
day in an office, staring at a
screen, moving in and out through
rushed and time-bound increments.

You forget to pay attention, to
breathe, to lift your eyes, open your
heart and feel the day.

And then those days, those months, 
those seasons just roll on through, and 
you have to think back: 

June was hopeful. July difficult. 
In August we ended. And now 
September is just beginning,
with empty calendar days and
hours approaching and asking
you to live, finally, 
just live.

Wednesday, September 4, 2013


I want 
to lie with you
in the underside.

the belly.

taken by
our appetites.

round and soft and billowy.

wind on the surface
the deepest hollows.

we will find

our true
true north.