I sit on the bench.
A field of dandelions
erupts in the screams
of children kicking
a ball between them. A game
with loose rules, a shape
with changing borders.
I close my eyes and listen.
Something free and whole —
as I imagine
it — is the source of all this
fun. I play along.


A block of words in
the right order on a page
in broad daylight —
nature meets culture,
I guess — sublime, perfection.
I lose my place, I
lose my I. A blank
page, in the same daylight, fills
with thought thinking thought.
A work-around is
to bring to this sunny place
some unfinished dreams.

The Chill

Even sitting here
in the bright — too bright– Spring sun-
shine soaking it up,
cherry blossoms loose
in the grass, I see there’s more
to it. This over-
full moment, eros
of God, seeks a weakness in
my chill otherness.

Lettuce and Snowflakes

I admire the work
of Anonymous. Gender-
free, responsive to

sources intimate
and universal, other
to the Tyrant’s will-

to-power, Anon.
delights in created things,
ignores the Tyrant’s

shows of brutal force.
Let Anonymous promote
lettuce and snowflakes.

On Motivation

Motivators say
just tell your own story in
your own words. For me,
seeking a new foot-
hold on the way up and down,
faces of old friends
come to mind. I can’t
describe them — not lovers’ eyes,
their eyes are content,
beautiful, distant.
A hand grabs my hand and pulls
me out of myself.

March Madness

Crow-calls tree to tree
follow me as I go out.
Slivers of birdsong
split the Spring air. It’s
the communication of
the full and the full,
deep unto deep. Who
am I to doubt a God-sign
that pierces my heart.

Donna, Donna

Universal, may-
be, particular for sure.
To me at that age

music — Joan Baez,
“Donna, Don”– that luminous
missing syllable.

Otherwise a prig,
a grammatical Nazi,
a bookish loner.

Music saved me from
myself. All these years later,
that refrain again.