Monday, July 28, 2014

Here, Not Here

Part of me is orbiting far out,
waves and vibrations playing
some cosmic chord--
another part is locked in tight, buried deep
and dark, some rare element in my heart
or elsewhere, something I know
by heart, by feel only, something
I'm guarding very carefully.
Two aspects of the same thing,
shaped by pressure and space.

Sunday, July 27, 2014

Untitled Tanka

I crave a northbound
road to unhaunted landscapes,
worries left behind,
to where a soft wind rises
over and quiets my mind.


The highway sign flashes
caution caution caution
and pavement is ripped,
coming up in chunks,
vehicles funneled tightly,
as I return to my childhood
home, and signs in my mind
flash as well. I reminisce in
the fading daylight on the
porch where Dad sat in
his last days, as summer
now wanes slightly. Next
day, Mom and I cart off
a truckload to auction, high chairs
and other relics of someone
I was and somehow still am,
an emptying house, another type of
season ending, the parting out
of things, outward effects of
life lived well, but not always
easily. We leave our lot behind,
knowing we carry other things
burnished with the wind and
water of age, carry them in us,
shining more brightly than
any polished antique.

Friday, July 25, 2014

Prisoner and Jailer

While you are the prisoner
in your cramped, damp cell,
you are also the warden, the jailer,
the one with the keys hanging close,
their sweet music reaching in
past your own locks, the sound of
what if, of freedom, of YES. 

Thursday, July 24, 2014


The house in which I now
find myself offers up cues
to childhood, to years past
coming back as if wired
directly into my senses:
the walls of heat in the attic
and the smell of cardboard
and dust, the earthy cool of
the basement, the burbling
lawnmowers and the cut
grass coloring my shoes
and tickling my nose with
its slight peppery sweetness.
The bills come, as they
surely did then, monthly,
and I can't look at a wall
or window for too long before
deciding it needs attention.
Still, friends are a walk or
a bike ride away, no plan needed.
Still, I open a heavy door and
a basketball bounces in the
street, and the ice cream truck's
song shifts down a step as it
passes, a bittersweet modulation
as things stay the same and
we move through them like
the high, harmless clouds
in the July sky.

Wednesday, July 23, 2014

Free Me

Free me from worry, that familiar pain,
a well-traveled trail, lost and found.
Show me what my heart can contain.

Get me out of the canyon before the rain.
Show me the way to the high ground,
free me from worry, that reaching pain.

Lead me away from losses and gains--
not all victories will bring renown.
Show me what my heart can contain.

Let my breath be a simple refrain
as I climb higher, with a brief look down.
Free me from worry, that following pain.

Not everything demands to be explained--
mountains move without a sound.
Show me what my heart may contain.

Safe now, walking the high, calm plain,
a brilliant moon hangs low and round.
You transform my worry, that capricious pain,
and show me what my heart always contains.

Tuesday, July 22, 2014

Late Sun

Riding along the
rural road this evening, the
burn in my muscles
dropped away for a time, and
the late sun glowed like honey.