Three Generations

Unseasonably warm,
but the sidewalk still icy

so we hold each other up

as the snow melts
and refreezes

and melts…

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Definitions

Three things I am:
1. Comfortable in the quiet house
2. Trusting of this heart
3. Confident in the unfolding

Three things I am – also:
1. Uneasy in the quiet house
2. Hesitant of this heart
3. Uncertain in the unfolding

but what is the point
of definitions

when tonight
all that matters

is the way
that the sharp,

slender moon
has rocked

into a perfect
white crescent?

Present

In paper,
string,

or quieter,

waiting
to be untied,

undone,

the gift
revealed.

Now Toward Light

Lighting the candles
more than a gesture
when the children
(and I)
need reminding.

Until You Come Home

A ball of yarn
this heart unwinds
spin and dwindle
stringing trails
of red through
quiet rooms.

Dinner on Sunday

Following
the garden’s

final opus
we linger

to fill our
pockets

with vibrant
puzzle pieces

of each other,
mapped across

foreheads,
hearts

and the creases
of eyes that flicker

with the wisdom
(or innocence)

of the mystery.

El Sueño

In the hours between
the rooster and the dog,
where the round rock

balances impossibly,
the Mexican Buddha
watches the horizon,

unwavering in the shadow
of the white breasted
frigate.  Still-winged

raven etches black
circles on the salty mist
and is also tattooed

across the back
of the Buddha. 
Heron bones swivel

pale feathers and foam
along surf’s edge calling
silently, burn bright

and return to the sea.