Day 1
I am on a train, in danger I think,
moving quickly, holding on for dear life
but with no real fear
of anything.

I am surrounded
by those I know
but I do not feel like myself.

The train stops and
we hide in our open air
seats till we continue
on again..

I do not know where we are going
or see when arrive there.
Day 2
I am sitting in a bathtub.
the lovely kind with feet,
there is no water and I
am fully clothed.

I look around and there are countless bathtubs,
all side by side, perched atop very high pillars.

There are people in many of them,
but not all. We each move by
leaping from tub to tub.
Sometimes there are
two or three of us in a tub.

I see at a distance a tiger.
She is coming towards me.

I feel afraid as I begin to leap,
not looking down.
Day 3.
I am on a boat,
kayak like, small,
with familiars that I
cannot place.

The water and air are cold
and we are all bundled,
rowing to keep warm,
escaping perhaps.

Suddenly a sea creature
shows himself,
all tentacles and
one huge menacing eye.

We struggle wildly and
manage to beat him back
with our oars and boots,

but not until after
many have been stung.

Next we are ashore
in a warm comfortable place.
A doctor of sorts places
a blue jewel on my back
on the place where
I was stung.

He tells me
I cannot
fall asleep,
that if I do
I won’t wake again.

I struggle to keep my eyes open
longing for an escape
from the tiredness
and sorrow.
Day 4.
(in the middle of my first books editing)

I dreamt of a book
I haven’t yet written
dedicated to a daughter
not yet conceived.
Day 5.
I am climbing
forever climbing
up a gigantic ladder
made of pink hula-hoops.

The sky around me is beautiful blue
the sun is shining and there are
fluffy white clouds at regular intervals.

Eventually I reach the top.
I jump.

The fall is delicious,
warm air on my face.

I wake up before I hit the ground.

Natural Light

A field of purple
in the natural light
is almost unnatural
in its brightness.
When it moves
with the wind in
perfect evening light
it is otherworldly.

I wonder who decided
it was a weed.

There is so much
waste in this world,
and the journey
is long for all of us.

My tilted uterus
mirrors the oddness
of it, and the long and
winding road reflects
the x ray image that
the doctor shows me.

What a passage you
have in front of you
my sweet.

The things we
put ourselves through
for what we love
are often surprising.

Balance consists of
a series of decisions,
but we can’t be
right all of the time

I pause to
be happy
then go
back to work.

The Rhythm of Water

The act of observing
a thing changes
its behavior
its course
its next move

and this next move,
I think, will
be a bold one.

Sometimes I feel as though
If I’ve lost some
part of me.
Like I missed
some important lesson.

Like in deciding to stay inside on
a cold day, you never get to see
the way the trees glisten
in the snow.

It is clear and cold today
Spring tries to make her
way toward us.
The air feels so thin,
and I cant tell which
direction we are going.

There is a rhythm to this
path that we are on,
to the coming of new things,
like a birth of something precious.

Like the rhythm of water
lapping at the sides
of my grandfathers
canvass boat as we
paddle together
synchronized, to get
where we are going
and catch
our dinner.

Gold panning

That summer I went in many circles –
etched in silver, in a hot attack room.
I focused on the flame,
its color as it changed,
the shape of the silver as it melted
and its shine below the muck
when it cooled.
It was simple
but I made it complicated.

Another summer is beginning I realize
with my hand submerged in running water.
It’s cold. I hold my hand under until I can’t.
The cold is glacial.

The sun shines on the river as I reach
For another handful of mud,
my unpainted nails scraping the bedrock.
I straighten, stretch my back
and look downstream.

My eyes and hands drop back down
to the mud and water
searching for a speck of gold.

Winged Creature

Up before the sun
on a Sunday morning
for some solitude
and writing.
The sunrise is a bonus
I had not considered.

One animal in and one out,
both hunting for whatever
captures their interest,
resembling  streaks of grey
more than domesticated animals.

We are all crepuscular beings and I am glad for them.

In this blue hour
I feel as though
all the birds will pray with me,
worms will sit with me
when I am lonely,
listen to me
when I sing.

I do not mind the rain or chill.

I wish I was a winged creature
who could sail above the trees
and look down instead of up
at the world and sky
in all her fickle glory.

I could be comfortable in the body of a bird.

We all evolve daily,
or should
if we know what’s good for us.

From where I sit
a bird flies too close
to the window,
I am momentarily
worried for him.
But there is no need.

He is only a beautiful silhouette
across the early morning green blue sky.
In another life he could have been my brother.
But in this one he is only a creature
who lives outside my windows.