poetry

Falling in love is like swallowing grains of sand
to recover the pebble you skipped across the pond

by your childhood home, the ripples setting in
motion every marvel, every horror of your life;

Last night I dreamt of the perfect opening line
to a poem that would, I had no doubt, piece

back together the crumbling world. It was a line
that drew you in, breathless, that made you drop

everything—coffee, that online shopping cart
one click from arriving at your door—and pay…

Mind abuzz, body stiff, I take
my meds and wait for rest. For
by now the clouds have come
and gone and brought no rain,
the dishes are put away, all
juice squeezed from the day…

“The only difference between a flower and a weed is judgement.” – Wayne Dyer I have mistaken Ragweed for Goldenrod, alleyways for gardens, watched them torn out, make way for something better. I have asked what better is, been taught […]

If I had my
way, I suppose there would be no shorelines,

no dying light sinking into bruised-blue lakes, no
dead poets, no Libraries of Alexandria…

I have put pen to much that I ought not have
written, including, perhaps, these very words.

I have mistaken Ragweed for Goldenrod,
alleyways for gardens, watched them torn out,

Dearest, I meant to prove myself worthy of every challenge, up to death itself. The day began with feats of strength, like getting out of bed and brushing my teeth. I took till noon to venture out; by then the […]

You needn’t believe in ghosts to dance with them. Just ask the Robin napping in the quiet of a broken fountain, drunk on jasmine and sugar. Ask drowsy Orion, who was up all night, or the Taiga, bent on its […]

To write love poems when this world’s a mess
is like, depending on your point of view,
finding jasmine on the moon—an excess
of joy where all is bleak—or dreams of blue
sky at night, of food in famine…