July 26, 2015


sometimes i think that we are wisest
where we know the least
strongest when we sink in grief
or rise in joyous sparks
most able when we cease to try
and simply lie unresisting in the stream
of all that is, 
just sitting with it in the quiet dark 
where we hatch our souls.


i know why chained dogs howl at the moon
i turn my teeth on myself
i rend what is already tattered
rather than tear at the one who tears at me

how mysterious, the changeable and ever-cycling moon
how mysterious, that people can say they love,
and mean such different things

we make our chains by what we give or keep
i gave you all and freely
i made you all that mattered to me
if my lonely spirit sings in the dry spells,
if it sings to you of rain, of waxing full again,
it sings to the unhearing, incomprehensible moon

grammar lessons

past, present, future
there is a grammar to life---
you need to know how to conjugate
your hopes and memories,
how (and what) to decline,
what tense to use for the tensions
amo, amas, amat, amamus, amatis, amant
cogito, ergo sum.
(the sum is sometimes greater, sometimes less,
than the parts.)

past tense:
after my daughter was born,
i asked him
more than once---
come with me, i said,
please, come with me
on this journey i cannot help but take
because it is my life.

present tense:
i sit at the window
watching cold rain
slide down the glass,
confronting all the ways in which
i've failed,
fighting the temptation
to keep doing nothing.

future tense:
i want to take these broken pieces
that were my life
shake them up and let them fall,
glittering and turning
and watch them land,
to read a pattern into random shards
and hope they make some new whole.


who among us is not
a girl interrupted,
a woman spinning wildly
as she tries to find her center
we face our challenges
as best we may
long nights of tears
and long enduring days
we spin, we fall,
we pick up, pack up, and move on
we bravely enter and re-enter
our own unknown
we turn aside from fears
and stubbornly we say
we will care for all,
no one excepted
not even ourselves
time to plant hope,
time to plant hope.

July 23, 2015


the slip of skin on skin
as pillows lump and sheets tangle
at night, a forest grows
green leaves twine around us
who lie like tangled ruins
hearts beating still
with the rhythm of the night
which sings of secret things
blooming scarlet and gold
beneath a cold moon

midwifing the future

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