These Chambers

Though I have had the fortune
of great love, there was a time
I did not know my heart.
My child self never doubted
that the world was made for beauty,
and I am still not certain
that this was not the result
of some accidental cosmic luck.

So much love has passed
through these chambers.
And my heart grew
as hearts will,
or sometimes won’t.

The greatest gratitudes of my life
are for the ones
who used their arms
to hold me.

And there were disturbances
more profound than the loss
of my own blood, and inside
these ravagings and rebirths,
great softenings that dissolved me
into a deep ocean of empathy
and into the knowing of what is true:

every heart I have ever loved
will one day sink to the bottom of the sea,
a small grain of sand

… so each moment has become
an unexpected pearl,
and I am learning
to listen to the drum
that beats a quiet rhythm to my daily doings.


My whole life I thought
that I would write a book
about you

after you died.
I knew all along
that I should have been

taking notes
during the telephone calls,
which were

how we spent
a good part
of our lifetimes together,

and no less close for that.
You knew my insides,
and I knew yours –

or at least,
I knew most.
But by the end,

we knew everything.
It is impossible
to hide the soul

when the body and the mind
begin to fade.
And there are gifts there too,

in this great peeling away.
I am,
because of your love,

your truths
and your DNA.
And the only way

to say thank you now,
is to live
this extraordinary life.

There’s Always More to Tell

This is a song I wrote a little while back for my dad…and with Father’s Day just around the corner and all…

I’ve been thinking about you all morning.
The dawn is rolling by in the arms of a storm.
I wish that I could give you fair warning
but they’re just like the tides,
these thoughts of mine.

Outside the trees are all in bloom.
I’ve been hoping to hear from you soon.
We’re sitting around making music in a morning room,
and you are on my mind,
most all of the time.

It’s spring again and I’m another year older.
I’m feeling fine, and the children – they are, too.
We’re living this life just a little bit bolder.
The stars keep going round,
and I keep missing you.

We used to walk down by the seaside.
We’d find those shells, and we’d find those stones.
You’d tell me everything’s going to be alright,
and then we’d head on home.
I know you’ve head on home.

I’m pretty sure that I’ve said everything.
That doesn’t mean there’s not always more to tell.
I’d like to play this morning song right to you,
and to know you’re doing well.
There’s always more to tell.

All Day Long, They Wait

In the post office,
you hold them back
as you read your mother’s letter,
so full of praise, so full
of sweet wishes
that your father
could witness the changes.
And then again
when you almost leave
the dry spot of milk
from the morning
cereal – What if I never see them
again? You wonder. Oh,
these daytime dreams –
leave things as they are
in case everything changes.
But you wipe the milk,
and make the beds,
and arrange the pillows
still smelling of children’s hair
and that is when you see them,
the doe and fawn
by the last of the melting snow,
and she grooms softly
the ears of her child
and finally,
they come.