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Friday, September 14, 2018


Ninety strangers step slowly,
Single file, through a Rocky
Mountain meadow. It’s six

On a summer morning, sun
Not yet up over the aspens.

Like one body they heed the signal
And stand still for minutes,
Breathing it all in as moon-glow
Soaks and blesses Red Feather Peak.

After a deep marinade
In the moment’s quiet
They turn back

On this narrow path
Looping past each other

With echoes of sweet
Recognition, open
Eyes receive the welcome

Of friends and dawn’s
Unending bloom.

Presence of an Absence

Grief, three feet ahead
Of me once more,

Tugs my leather bracelet
With hungry fingers

As we walk and talk
Along the uneven

Afternoon in the Smokies

The forest awaits
Your steps, sure-footed
On stones as you cross

The stream roofed
with moss.

Then a sudden stopping
In this rain for day’s
Welcome burst on
Your upturned face.

Hear water’s plop and patter
On leaf and fern
Amidst whispers of mist

And moon as memories
Start to shimmer
And shout,

They’re strung like flags,
Bound in fog

Along an elusive
Mountain top.

Monday, August 20, 2018

A hollowed-out log
stretches into a meadow
noisy with lupine and yarrow.
A single mushroom born
from decay shines
in damp darkness.
As day awakens
a trio of squirrels scamper
inside as the dead spruce,
bathing in birdsong, Summer
heat and a battalion of ants,
smiles down in its core
as the party begins.

Sunday, August 19, 2018

Golden State Awakens

This morning as we scampered
along, stepping without thinking
into early light,

the grasses were woven into sheaths
that glowed and kissed the river below
with joyful thoughts of contented times.

Breezes carried the tops of trees
whispering good fortune,

pleasing all who stroll along water’s edge
where children stumble and tumble,
laugh and shout, and hide in twos and threes

behind fat oaks; they’re holding
hands and in their glee and supple bones
know the truth of each moment’s
buoyant speech.

And the golden grasses, trustworthy
witnesses, start to sing their wild prayer
as day deepens into its dance
of color, its wild, intricate design.

Theology Lesson

A suddenness of hummingbird!

then spinning away scrawling
another name for God

'the great giving'

in airborne
invisible ink

like Amelia Earhart,

drifting out


over the blue lake.

  Her Armpits

These twin earths,


holy lands,

where you, dear sisters of quiet,

read library books
underneath a dark

while in hungry times
this pilgrim's tongue 

returns like an overdue
thief night after night

to lurk and to linger
in your fields
of dank tobacco

of jasmine blooming,
listening for clues.

And your moist lips,
sweet with tea,

wordlessly moving
in secret, together.