When I first lost him,
I dreamed of him.
I heard his voice,
saw his face, felt his touch,
smelled his scent,
tasted the salt of his skin.
Now, with all the intervening years,
I still dream of him.
But he comes as a swirl of color.
A melody of light.
He comes as a familiar yet in unfamiliar form.
I know it is him.
So perhaps this is what we become.
A swirl of light that dances
through our lovers memory
to stir the embers
reminding them of love
reminding them that love is light and color
and is transformed
but remains for all the days
stretching beyond what we knew
within the confines of this world.


I’ve wanted one tattoo.
Just one.
Two small words.
“Kiss Here.”
At that special place.
I have been told, men like direction.
Kiss Here.


Disrupted runners run to local hospitals to donate blood.
In a moment, when the ordinary turns surreal,
when calm turns to panic,
our natures rise to the surface.
There are those whose nature
affords them to see clearly amidst the chaos.
They calm, soothe, take action,
while others, stunned, cannot move,
shake, whimper and withdraw.
There is no moral judgement in either reaction,
crisis triggers each individual’s survival skills.
We all have a place at such moments.
We join, holding on to our humanity,
With a glance, with a touch, we comfort one another.
The active and the withdrawn meld to
survive, transcend and create
a future kinder and gentler for us all.

The Last Memory

He asked “What would be my last memory before I die.”
He answered as a bird in flight.
A blackbird.
His words fluttered up, took to the air,
drew the eye of those listening, upwards,
seeing through the birds eye,
into the soul,
no darkness there in the heart of the blackbird,
only light and magic.
He shared a vision soft and sweet,
a flight of happiness,
no constraints, defying gravity
lifting us all heavenward.

for Gerardo Pacheco




I listen
for all these things
trying to hear you.

Sweet Sanctum

A song
A story
A kaddish
An expulsion
A piece of wizardry (crow man)
A liberation

The evening came gently.
In the air, the birds accompanied the human voices.
The city chimed in
with sirens, traffic noise
human background chatter.

We all met under the new moon
with our separate intentions
melding into a group consciousness
that rose in the sky
in a swirl of smoke and manifested
into the night.

She Said

Darkness expresses a link to the earth
and the otherness.
She painted water
but I saw a comet –
streaking against the vast cosmos.
No link to the earth
but movement away
from all attachment.
Burning, consuming itself
to propel forward
brightly against the dark,
trailing light and stardust
to return at an interval
determined by its own mass
and center of gravity
beyond our lives.

for Martha McDonald


Wakened by the songbirds

My hair looking like a nest.
Shampooed erringly with body wash.
Dressed with one blue sock, one black.
Left the house with keys locked inside.
Drove to work on fumes.
Called my boss by the wrong name –
shaken, walked into the mens restroom.
Left early to fill the car –
drove off with the pump hose attached.
Sat on the porch
the morning songbirds singing their evening song.
The day turning to dusk.
My hair, curly and blowing askew
from my cattywampus day