This pen is drained. The barrel’s dry.

An inveterate die-hard listmaker The Buddha

She lived before the lighthouse rose. She loved before the library

Blind, as a tick hovers for its next meal, I hunger after you, leap to your smell,

we witnessed fallen men, drifting from wet alleys with their bundles— in Cohen’s rasping hallelujah

It was the kind of day that death should not visit, should be respectful enough, of life, to stay tucked

Facebook has solved that pesky problem of mortality. Most of my dead friends seem to keep having birthdays.

According to my Baptist neighbors, I am docketed for torture from my demise until the heat death of the universe.

Say it isn’t so, Momma, rock me slowly, ease the pain. Wipe the teardrops from my eyes,

Forests of green flank slate mountains obscured...

The dark summer clouds are roaring and hanging. She dreamed again of the white-Walled room…

borage tomato maracuya pepino dulce and lemon home is an island, a corner of peace, my small imperfect paradise and the city roars...

helping a friend with a bed out the door of their rental. the van parked in rain on the corner. their home like ants with a grasshopper...

Join me, my wonder, palm to palm a walk in the wind with me under palms   or pines or firs, such mercy skin to skin, a thirst holding...

Tree leaves clatter on the attic and wake you up this morning, that might be fragile otherwise.   A tile rattles – not in your brain, and...

Late afternoon. Subarctic shoreline. Sun nowhere to be seen. Beneath an opaque white sky...

How do we capture experience? Trap words in a jar and seal it tight?   Words trapped in a jar and sealed up tight are muzzled, silenced...

Capture for me in vivid and moving verse The essence of a summer day, distilled Down to the happiness in a honeybee’s dance. Sing for me...

In twilight's grasp, the oak stands tall and proud,  Its branches whisper secrets to the breeze... 

Silver moon glows, whispers...