Shhh Listen…

I went for a walk
To where the road diverged
“Take the one less traveled by”
Clever Frost said to me

Left to right
My head did swivel
So down I sat
To sit and ponder

To take the one
Where shadows tip toe through
To steal
Kisses from the rain


To take the one
Courage slowly slips through
Unnoticed, unwatched

“Courage doesn’t always roar”
Quiet Mary-Ann whispered

Still I sat
To sit and ponder
Which way, which way

Travel the one
Smooth as glass
Like a cool marble
In the center of the tongue


Travel the one
Where beasts roar and bemoan
Tusks growing tusks

This I could not say

“The fears are paper tigers”
Sweet Amelia wrote to me
Her words folded upon one another

I said exasperated
Still unknowing which to choose

So there I sat
In silence
That grew and grew
Till I began to know

I knew, I knew
Exactly what I had to do

Stretching my toes
Thin and through
I took anchor
As dark resin flowed
Thick and true
Traveling down

There you shall find me
Between those two paths
Quietly singing

“Shhh Shhh”

And teaching those to listen

“The trees are those who write
With pens of shining green
And in all their tallness height
Catch the remnants of dreams unseen.”


Painter’s Moon

The moons lips
Bow over my
Bent knees
Her tongue
Darting between
The crevices
The youth
Melting off
My bones

The toothless grin
To suck
From the hollow
Below my spine
The arch
Waning into a
Silver spoon

Reaching down
To swirl her fingers
In Picasso’s paint
She colors dusk
A deepest
Setting it on fire
To eat her body

Embers crumble
As she bends
At the waist
Her bald head
Spooning the earth
“I wish
I had the hair
Spun of
Milk and gold”
She breathes
Into the mouth
Of a star.



There is a hollow
In the redwood tree
Just small enough
To hold a dream
The edges are furled
Like the border
Of a yellowed
Treasure map
Peeled back
To show insides
Of grit and bite
Holding back
Tears of gold
That spill forth
In outstretched hands.

Inside is
Where you will find
Released from a jar
Stargazed wraiths
Floating along the walls
Building castles
On sighs of
Midnight air
And breathing
A soft glow
To comfort
Fireflies and wig worms
Buried beneath
Twilights cupped palm.

Deeper still
Are where the
Wishes dwell
They flit their wings
Cooing notes on
Dew drops and
Taking flight
Among rusted roots
Resting only
To drink from
The earths
Frothy brine.

At the end
The heart lies
In a nest of
Twigs and cotton fluffs
A luminescent gasp
In the dim lit wood
Straining to hear
The gentle
Thump thump
Along the willow strings
And into the



Their spines arch
Into petals
Of the lily
White ghosts
Wrapped in

Haunting shadows
Of winged feathers
In ancient souls
Rooted deep
In earthy froth.

They grow
From veins of fire
Embers stoked
By gnarled bones-

Ignited in dreams
Of haze
And lightening glow
In puffs of smoke.

They hold the moon
In the cradle
Of their mouths
A silver pendant
Draped in ink-

Sunk below
A sunset crimson
Broken silhouettes
Against a russet

Their well worn fingers
Brush grass
Of golden honey
Flecked with
Of forgotten

Licking the throats
Of wild hearts
A melody
Burnt orange
By the
Dying dusk.


The Origamist

I fold and unfold my
Legs and arms into
Elephants and dragons
Who stomp and unfurl
Sticky wings
I englarge and inflate
My eyes and ears
Popping them out
To my stick thin body
I have mastered the art
Of box pleating
And decreeping
With such ease
That my 45 degree angles
Have been known to
Cut through sinew
And bone
I can tug a corner
Through the crook of an
Or through the bend
Of a knee
I can graft and edge
Around the neck
Or over the bare midriff
But for what I am most
Notorious for
Is the
Folding of the petal
And narrowing
Into a delicate balance
Of angles and creases
Blossoming into a field
Of paths and molecules
Each stem
Carefully erected
And frozen in plastic
Each leaf
From a pseudohinge
A nose of the underlying
And each petal
Shaped and dipped
Into half-moon
The lotus


Blueberry Lake

There is a place
where blueberries
float on top of the water
bobbing with every ripple
you want to scoop them
into your palms
hold them like pearls
before placing them
in the center of your tongue
a perfect dip
before your teeth break
through the thin skin.

Your mouth wants to chase them
around the contorted bend
sucking in the berries
but expelling the sea green brine
stringing them along your throat
a necklace
of no worth to man
but prized among the stars
berry purple jewels
polished to shine
in folded moonlight

The whisper and beckon
among the reeds
hiding their purple flesh
giving only a snatch
to tease
they are sirens
calling to stained fingers
and wet mouths
those who taste
are bound by a season
released when
knees crinkle
and the silver trees
dip their branches
in winters kiss.


Spooning the Moon

I want to spoon the moon
Feel the cool concave curve
Pressed to my face
The soft light
Falling on my half-shut eyelids
Coaxing the color to peek out
Midnight black spotted white
The orbs of sparks float on by
Brushing against the soft underside of my arm
Leaving tendrils of cream
To swirl lazily about my body.

Floating in my own milky way
My hair flurls out to catch
Flakes of lunar dust
Curling gently around them
Holding and cradling each speck
In the loops and spirals
They drift aimlessly outward
No weight, no worry.

My fingers trace absent minded circles
On the smooth glass surface
Over and over they draw
Causing small craters to open
And catch the tears
Of the ink well above, below, and inside
The sad empty space

My fingers created pockets of hope
To be held forever in glass sworls
Dripping, and dropping, and dripping
A soothing rhythm
Echoing across galaxies and comets

The silent moon
Found it’s voice
While tucked in close
To my curved body.


Welcome To My Box

Welcome to my box.
It is a good box.
Most of the time.
Sometimes my box likes to shift.
Up becomes down and down becomes up.
It is quite annoying trying to figure out
If my head is on the floor or
Stuck on the ceiling.
Makes my hair a mess.

Sometimes the corners like to hide.
Disappearing for days at a time.
Only to reappear when I least need a corner.
Those sneaky little corners.
I should think about obedience classes.
Maybe round them out a bit.
But I love those sharp little edges
Too much
To shape them into someone else’s mold.

Sometimes my box
Disagrees with being a box.
It leans to one side
Becoming a parallelogram.
Or it shrinks and extends
Becoming a trapezoid.
This one I do not like.
I have to stoop and my neck
Gets crinkled.
So when my box
Finally feels like being a box again,
I unfold upward like a scrunched accordion.
And I do not know about you,
But I do not enjoy being an accordion.
I think my box does this on purpose.
To remind me
That not all lines are straight.
Some bend and curve,
Lengthen and shorten.
Mischievous box!
Some warning would be nice.

Sometimes holes appear in my box.
Do not be alarmed.
They are friendly holes,
For the most part.
They show up
To show me glimpses of outside.
Every so often a butterfly finds it’s way in.
Those poor butterflies.
Some never make it back out.
Since those holes never stay still.
Always spinning, always zipping around.
Sometimes smushing those butterflies in their frenzy.
Sometimes smushing me.
But I have fingers to unhook those pesky holes.

The lines are squirming.
Stay calm.
My box is becoming agitated.
It’s not used to extended company.
So I shall have to ask you to leave.
Be careful of the door.
It may change size on you.
And trap you between it’s bars.
Flatten bit by bit.
Until you become a permanent fixture.
A stray line in my box.
Which shall not do.
Shall not do at all.

Maybe you should grab a hole.
One by your head.
Out you go.
Please visit my box again.

You forgot your shoe.


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