Dear pen, give me what I want:
an ocean of green ink pouring out
precisely, a backward river flowing
from ocean to essence, small beginnings
deep in silent earth.
Dear mountain, give me what I want:
your willful intent to slow us and
show us, to lift us from our
flat perspective, to see
relief in the land.
Dear rain, give me what I want:
drops of the infinite and eternal,
which have fallen and risen
over and over again,
no worse for wear.
Dear night, give me what I want:
a chance to sharpen other senses,
quick fox sniff and feral cat ear twitch,
the will to find my path
Dear stars, give me what I want:
the ability to see that a line in the sky
becomes a circle seen somewhere else,
even as your old light reaches
my searching eyes.
I don’t say it enough, but I care about you. Each of you. That’s why I’m here. It’s too much work to do it for the money, so there must be ...
You’re a valiant pine growing from a cleft in a rock. You are an old piano by the beach, sending your notes flying, singing with the gulls a...