Monday, March 30, 2015

Pagan Dream of Squirrels

After decades
collecting images of eagles,
I finally learn
my spirit guide
is a tree squirrel.
In all those dreams
I took long leaps, but was
never able to fly.
All those pathways through the air
were filled with wood,
the slow, melted glass
oozing of the trees.
I know the compromise,
never a bird,
but not quite earthbound.

Saturday, March 28, 2015

Tree Tops

The foot-routes available
through the air
around the front yard
have replaced my old
dreams of flight.
It must be a
settling of spirit
into body that happens
as one ages.
But those dreams are
grand enough,
like the squrrel who uses
the trees as highways.
There's a place up there,
always wild,
living under its soles.

Thursday, March 26, 2015

Meadow with a View of the Bay

I open the door
and step into a space
where earth and sky
are boxers, blue and brown
curled around each other.
It is a time
of real things happening,
beyond hopes and planning.

Saturday, March 21, 2015

New E-Book: Revisiting Manhattan: Poems and Digital Art


Thursday, March 12, 2015

A Right Now Bible

In the time after monsters,
the rainbow told us
we could trust the laws
that governed the Earth.
There may not be
any more miracles.
The age of prophecy
ended in the year 10.
From then on, God keeps silent.
Now I have come
to the end of the
era of wishes.
The future draws itself
down, narrow,
and straight.

Wednesday, March 04, 2015

Waiting Room at Sloan Kettering

Much fewer words
because they
no longer come easily.
It's amazing how my
declining competence is
mistaken for shyness.
I sit in the large
waiting room and watch
the flow of people
less aged than 75.
They're all
thinking about the years,
barreling down the escalator
and straight past me
toward the busy-ness,
with single-minded faces.
In a world of wounds and
weakness, I sit on this
borrowed chair, not
knowing how
to handle my coat.