Morning

Delight by name of hummingbird

flits from bush to branch

and back,

again again and again.

Ahh! such pleasure

she exudes

flirting with this orange flower

and this man's upturned gaze,

his expanding amazed grin....

Day's End

These leaves of ancient birch forests

floating onto the shore of the great lake,

their diaphanous soughing

massaging dusk's furthest corners.

Laughing, you scramble ahead

and disappear into the dark.

The Arising

If you sit quietly long enough,

usually alone at dawn,

before the careful inhabitants
of Saturday’s polished cars

roll from these tidy suburbs
to their computered cubicles

a silken shimmering
may arrive across
the inky cave wall

of your spacious mind

as an orange bison
reveals himself.

Do not speak now
nor reach to touch
this rippled flesh

those tufts of brilliant fur

but feel the ancient wildness
pounding on your heart’s
grass-green earth

calling you truly home;

for his blood and bones and breath,
his potent untamed glory,

are yours’ to fully claim

as you and he across
your life unbounded

joyfully together roam.

Sunday Blessing

May the multitudes of weary and ragged animals,

yes--also these human ones--

find deep rest and solace for their sun-drenched

drought-parched wandering bodies

spinning minds and anxious hearts

within the safe surroundings

of a moss-soft moist cave

where all are cradled

well inside

a secret loving gaze....

On The Mountain

You stop and listen carefully

to a subtle speech

held within the sturdy

syntax of stones,

slowly at first,

then suddenly as a summer storm,

you arrive surrounded

by blessed silence

in a communion of solitude

SUCH RAUCOUS STILLNESS

spoken by granite,

basalt and limestone 

unbidden

into the hearth and haven,

this hidden heart

of your truest home.

Afternoon Indolence

fresh out of the shower

he lies naked

on cool sheets

underneath

a whirling fan

That Day

She stops

and heeds

the speech

of stones

at this silvery

threshold..

Up On Otay

Darkly immobile

the speech of stones

my heart my ears

sifting their strength

contented....

Flying Solo

Living alone
has many
advantages.

The ice cream
in the freezer
stays put

until you finish off
that final bowl
all by yourself.

The toothpaste tube
and toilet paper roll

always are positioned
properly and recycled
in a timely fashion

into their assigned
receptacles.

There’s never a need
for negotiation regarding
on which wall

those airborne humans
in the Chagall print
belong or if the forks

and spoons are happiest
on the right or left
side of the stove.

And when you come home
from a walk roaming
through your quiet 

neighborhood
late at night

there’s no annoying
partner to greet
and hug you,

to kiss your quivering lips

and smile lovingly
at your simple
existence,

as you step in
from the cold.

 A Vibrant Shabby Home

This body, a crumbling

estate built by generations

of Croatians, Norwegians,

Swedes and Ojibwa ancestors,

is slowly transforming, some

would say ‘falling apart’ :

a swollen profligate prostate,

sometimes foggy brain,

shrinking biceps and seedling

cataracts not yet needing surgery;

but zest and joy are still

to be had dancing in the dusty

courtyard under starlight at midnight,

planting poppies of hope

at the feet of a statue of Venus,

and sitting entranced for hours 

outside with coffee Sunday morning

in the backyard—the vibrato

of hummingbirds sipping

from blossoms above, a solo monarch

brilliant in early light flits from rosebush

to lemon tree to the pines across the road,

and then the star of the show—

a gray bunny who’s recently made this old

place his home and happily nibbles

the lettuce and apples he’s given.

Graced by a beautiful disrepair—

holes in a screen door, weeds

in the garden, a missing plank

in the deck where Nibbles now lives,

there’s wildness here and in the quiet 

at dusk, songs of longing and joy 

can be heard flowing 

from the ancient infrastructures 

woven from bone and blood, stone 

and steel, all that lives here now 

and has lived and left,

those ancestors who worked, rested, 

wandered and wondered,

the ones I now thank

who loved this body 

into vibrant being. 

 A lone seagull

bobs on ocean's

back like a pearl

shimmering

upon your neck.

A terrycloth robe

caresses your skin

with spindrift kisses

calling you home....

Treasure

Quietly,

You sit.

The orange bison arrives
Across the cave wall

Of your spacious mind

Shimmering

Like ancient amber
In November mist,

Heading towards the bone-dry
Continents’ edge, like you,

Nose to ground beyond
These sky-high flames,

Beyond images
Embedded in memory

Of those sacred days
Where ferns and fields
Danced in tumbling rain,

Searching searching

Searching for water,

And then,

That thirst-slaked herd
Aching for release

Rumbles like a thunderstorm
Over the grassy plain.