And as a life is saved
by the one who kneels

with the wounded man
on the side of the road,

so may we find rescue
in the generosity of night

music round a campfire ring
as a half moon braids

through white stars
until the dawn. What

subtle salvations may bloom
inside a morning conversation

between a mother and a
daughter and also in

the sweet and bitter cups
of coffee that they

hold. Hummingbirds
to nectar, we are drawn

to an honest voice, to the
soft body of another

curling wordlessly into
our own, to the weighty

questions of a child, and like
the clouds that move

between the heat of bare skin
and the wild summer sun,

we become these small
and nameless tendernesses,

reminding each other
of what we are capable of

in all our broken humanness
with our ears, our open

hands, our letters
of love.

Nine on a Friday

If the north pole
of a magnet repels
the north pole
of another magnet,
then what
will happen if
the two magnets
face east?

Human resources are
everything inside
a person’s tummy.

I’m not voting for any
of the candidates.
I want a pig to be the President,
and for all buildings to be
made out of marshmallow.

Yoda died the best way
out of all of them,
he was just old, and he
lived for two hundred
bazillion years.

You know
the people who work
in money factories?
I bet they get
paid well.

If I could ask
the Wizard of Oz
for one thing,
it would be to get bigger
so that I could play
wide receiver
in the NFL.

A Flower Child
is a child born
in the time
of spring.

I am nine
so that means
I could live this
ten more times,
which feels long
and also short.

Eskimo kiss,
butterfly kiss,
cheek kiss,
nose kiss,
forehead kiss,
ear kiss,
unicorn kiss,
eyebrow kiss,
neck kiss,
regular kiss

Blue Pillows

When I miss you, she says,
I make pillows, says she,
I sew your name
with the colors I see,

and when she comes home
she gives them to me,
blue pillows, blue pillows
and stitches.

Our lives are not
what we thought they would be,
and your face it says it all
when the words escape me.

Darling, dry your eyes
we got all that we need,
blue pillows, blue pillows
and stitches.


Three Poems

Thick summer, ripe                           with stories,
with cherries, bodies                        on the news,
slow and sultry like                           violence, insidious as
a warm breeze moving                     our subconscious heavy
through branches bowed                 with the weight of it, we numb
with dusty wine                                 our thoughts, even as we reach for
plums and apple                               stems not yet ripe and crave
beginnings, green                             sweetnesses of life, not bullets like
hummingbirds buzzing                      broken streets and our psyches.  We are hungry
for fruit in all stages,                          for resolution, tasting their answers,
from sour to sweet,                           from truth to lie,
under a high July                               this planet spinning beneath the
sunshine where time                         talking, ticking like a bomb that
slows to nothing,                               shatters again and again,
and everything                                   everything
is changing                                        is struggling for light.

Stag on the Lawn at Sunrise

Hooves on deck boards
wake me out
of dream, antlers

tattered, rack his long
and wandering days
like closets hung with

humble lessons, whole
and broken, he is
the story of many

seasons in these mountains,
and I know that we are
both blessed to be alive

inside the golden
stillness of a delicate
dawn.  We look

at each other
for a long time, mirror
pupils like two black

pools, quieter than
the quietest morning,
and just as softly,

he is gone,
as another
holy day unfurls

into the sunshine of itself
outside the open
window, and my heart,

in equal
parts, breaking
and opening.