One lonesome dove cry
Late afternoon clouds drifting
Silence between breaths
Starting With The Sky
Wall Art
They are selling their condo
all inclusive reads the promotional draw
You’ll get everything you need to live well
There’s a stove and a washer
refrigerator, a red sofa, and two beds
A mirror in the hallway so you always
have someone you can tell your troubles to
Drift in and out each of the five rooms
a virtual tour riding tilted on a giant balloon
Each wall’s smooth as sheer windswept cliffs
no art or books here to hold or pause to gaze
Curious returns to the shining hall mirror
condolence messages via a smudged screen
You must be so lonesome here
Song of the World
I woke to the sound of singing
voices of the world
some are joyful
some in pain
experience, innocence
young, elders, boys and girls
I heard the songs of great lamenting
for hunger, cruelty, and shame
I heard the whispers of remembrance
and hope that still remains
Purposeful Purposeless
Go to the beach. Go to the part where nobody lingers. The heron is watching. Seagulls survey. There’s the smell of saltwater. Seaweed tangled among stones. Fragments of shells. Half crabs. Splinters of sunwashed bone. Hear the song of the waves drifting out drifting in. Redwinged Blackbird calls from undercover of wild roses.
Driftwood messengers
Heartbeat rhythm on the wind
Shifts of time
I Was
Was I thinking of
adding it up
Would it ease anything
for anyone
Was I intending to
contribute my part
Join the long line
of I’m sorry ghostwalkers
Empty hands hollow eyes
too numbed even to cry
I was going to gift you
a sad song
Something you could sway to
help you shuffle along
Was I standing in a dream
afraid of plucking a string
Too many causes in this motion
I was ready only yesterday
but now
I can’t decide anything
After the Weekend
We here
in this moment
Microcosm
of wider world
How do
you like it
We ask
each from threshold
We issue
answer in a thousand tongues
Language
grunts moans murmurations
Signs
we carry lead us on
Colours
rainbow bold or fading arc
Humanity
naked beast still loading
The Predictor
On the day of first yellow mango
came the prophet in form of grand smiler
He stood glowing as I lay sleep wandering
He bore gifts of bright abundance
songs of camas and white fawn lily fields
Colours luminescent like rainbows
With a voice like a choir of ethereal children
he weaved my comfort blanket of story
painted walls of wonder unfolding the day
Sky Faces
You can’t depend on their presence
You cannot summon them with command
Sky faces drift on a time outside of time
They carry messages from places of knowing
Just out of grasp
Speaking a language you’ve yet to learn
Obscured from sight by light step dancers
Sky faces are playful tricksters
They swoop in close
Breath sweet spearmint and clover
On silent wings they glide low and high
Leave you wanting
Promising—-
In time, maybe when you’re older
On some still early morning mist rising
As a new sun spreads life to shivered earth
Sky faces will linger, sip of your offering
Whisper words in the language of your heart
A Hand for You
I could have left a note
but it’s windy over there near the bay
You’ll be back before the melting
they remind us every day anyway
I listen to Neve and The Deer Children
sing songs in a language I do not understand
Which path did you choose at the crossroad
I wonder over morning coffee
Where is her other hand you’ll probably ask
when you arrive and find my sign
Why are there no footprints
either coming or going
Navigation
clarity
contemplate your resurrection path
winds are strong today
avert the fragile makers
empty vessels travel weightless
anchors having all rusted away
your hair obscures your view
yet you see what needs be seen
a blurring
a sign
a single thread
soft speaking from the edge of
a craggy cliff
a hem of your old sweatshirt
Pencil Notes 