Month: January 2014

hanging in my closet the person I used to be

Zen garden the tourist dips his toe in the gravel

wind chimes the gentle rain he would have loved

lost in my own world ground fog

bark beetles in the Ponderosa pine these gnawing doubts

where forest was the old map is thick with dust

New sheets. I remember your hands.

I always thought mother’s silk pillow cases a luxury now that they are mine I dream silk worms threading light to light

stone by stone, the river widens

moon bridge the wide mouth of a silver koi

a shivering moon in the kayak’s wake wood ducks resettle

obedience school for the dog for me  

finally it finds a home this feral cat my son brings home to bury

wildflower . . . not needing to know its name

dandelions all over again

cowbells . . . the pasture view never the same

Siesta Half-sunk in the undergrowth, an abandoned bamboo swing. Perched atop, a sparrow couple in disagreement about whether to set up their nest here or not. The

a lily’s chalice brimmed with the empty sky

as she turns to leave my mother’s girlish smile     (originally appeared in Valley Micropress (NZ), June, 2010)

apple slices— our last words in the knife?s blade  

night shade i close my eyes and disappear