Wednesday, March 9, 2016

The Poet and the Cowboy

She was a poet
Who wrote for a cowboy to love

When the cowboy came
He loved the poet
And loved most when she wrote for him

Loving the cowboy so much
She wrote of nothing else
Until eventually the poet became a cowgirl

The poems stopped
And the cowboy was sad
There were no more poems for him
So he found another, and loved her instead.

Wednesday, November 25, 2015

A Migration

The angry wind that howls at the emptiness
Between young mountains and even younger towers
Pushes me to a door
Where the highest there is to go
Is still lower than where I come from

I swallow, like ice water

So cold, the snow upon the limbs of trees
Lingers perfectly as if new;
The air is an angry god.

My skin is unwelcome in this middle territory

Land of blood and jagged false stone roads, of
Lakes of sweat and tears.
Not mine
I am not from here

Monday, November 16, 2015


I began to live as though I were wading in the tide,
waiting for the next wave to hit me, readying my body as I watched the foam ahead rise higher and higher above my head,
until finally it would crash over me and I would taste the ocean deeply
and the salt would burn in my chest. Exhilerated,
I waited for the next wave to come, and over and over again 
sometimes pushing me under
to spin below the surface
so long that the sun would become a shadow, and I would think I was dying.
When I finally surrendered to the feeling,
I'd float back up to see the next wave
curling into a watery fist from the clear blue horizon.  

Friday, June 12, 2015

A Butterfly in the Afternoon

As I knelt in the garden
A butterfly chose my shoulder
In the afternoon
To close its curved black wings
And die

As I rose

It fell to the ground
And stuck between the blades of grass
Like a piece of paper, briefly fluttered
In the breeze

Wednesday, April 1, 2015

The Northern Carrion

The northern carrion
Fooled by the stench 
of the skunk cabbage, ripe as rotting flesh;
Bless the hooded brown flowers
With a sweet kiss, while bees
Hum in their gentle winter slumber.

Thursday, January 8, 2015

In His Stomach it Grows

In the blue light of morning
In the golden light of afternoon
In the lavender light of twilight
In the plum sky and dumpling white moonlight of night

I see thee
I see thee
I see thee

He took a bite from
The girl who must be swallowed whole

She knows
She knows
She knows

Tuesday, June 24, 2014

Technically, dead

Eating warm peaches
Atop the fresh spring lawn
A whirling sprinkler dousing
A halo of crocus ‘round the Bradford pear tree
Bare feet combing the wet grass
Distant cry of the wind chime
Lazy teller of time—not urging in its tone,
But softly nodding
In harmonic compliment
With the hum of bumblebees wings;
I turn my computer on
Like a low flying bird into the grill of my car.