Sometimes the birds
fly low enough
and we are quiet enough
that the tremor of wings
becomes our own hearts
beating wild inside
our breath.
Posted in Uncategorized on July 31, 2011| 2 Comments »
Sometimes the birds
fly low enough
and we are quiet enough
that the tremor of wings
becomes our own hearts
beating wild inside
our breath.
Posted in Uncategorized on July 31, 2011| 1 Comment »
Posted in Uncategorized on July 31, 2011| 1 Comment »
In the middle of the night
I wake, my boy’s face
above mine. “I had
a bad dream,” he says.
“It’s all falling apart.
I’m scared.” And I
walk him back to his
bed and hold him
for hours till at last
his breath again touches
the place of dreams
and all around
our spooning limbs
and quiet breath
the world continues
to fall apart.
Posted in Uncategorized on July 31, 2011| 1 Comment »
In these travels
I bring along too much—
luckily the moon
takes up no room
in my suitcase
Posted in Uncategorized on July 31, 2011| Leave a Comment »
Why is it still
in the jar
unopened, untasted,
that sweet jam
I made so long ago
Posted in Uncategorized on July 31, 2011| 1 Comment »
Stones taught me to fly
—Damien Rice
The more
I break
the less interest
I have
in glue.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged 84, homeostasis on July 27, 2011| 1 Comment »
Things fall apart—
the road
the cup
all I think
I know—
and
something
holds together
all this breaking
*This poem responds to the fourth power of the universe, as outlined by Brian Swimme, homeostasis. This is the way that the great achievements of the universe are maintained. For instance, mammalian bodies retain their structure, as does the biosphere, the oyster shell …
Posted in Uncategorized on July 26, 2011| 4 Comments »
Posted in Uncategorized on July 26, 2011| 1 Comment »
So we don’t
get to know
the way it ends
but please,
as we go
along,
let’s put
a little
happily ever
into
it
Posted in Uncategorized on July 25, 2011| 2 Comments »
And the human heart is not personal: the more we fathom our own hearts, the more we find there the being of others and, beyond that, the very heart of the world itself. —Reginald Ray, “Looking Inward, Seeing Outward”
I ask
the world
to open me
and fling wide
both arms—
and the sky
rushes in
and my eyes
are guided
to find
my heart
hanging in trees,
strewn in an ant hill,
painted on a rock,
and everywhere
I am, I am not.








