This water,
it can steal your breath away,
and the thirsty air

could take your life.
Perhaps you are willing
to risk everything you have ever known

to the red labyrinth
of canyon walls, and bathe
along the icy waters

to wash away the old life,
where a thousand years ago
a man and a woman walked

to talk about endings,
(or was it beginnings?),
and where a million years ago,

lava boiled in crimson falls
to greet the river
with great white columns

of blinding steam
rising into a moonlit sky.
That same full moonlight

through which you row
your shanty vessel
like a pirate jamboree

past the rocks and weathered stones,
and into the black night
as if it were your last,

whispering your deepest secrets
to the stars,
or to a fellow traveler,

which is to say
that down here, you are finally able
to say what you mean,

and you realize that this
is the only definition
of freedom,

and that no matter
where the river leads you after,
it is now your responsibility

to follow the canyon back out
into the world and share
your wet, wild light.

Do You?

On an afternoon drive,
there is nothing to say except,

It was I
who ate the cookies,
and filled the stockings, I

who left a trail of half eaten
carrots on the lawn.
And furthermore,

twas I
who left the bill
and took the tooth,

but do you see the road ahead?
A mirage!  See how it
reflects the passing cars!

So tell me,
do you still believe
in magic?

The Spaces

It takes two broken
hands to discover

that love lives
in the palms,

not in the tips
of fingers.  It takes

a broken plan
to learn that love

is in the unknown,
not in the certainty.

It takes a breaking open
to know that love is

the branches gently
bowing, the rustle

of springtime leaves,
and in the breeze

that blows between
the spaces

of our questions
softly spoken.