Before a Colorado Sunrise Haiku

walk out, says the dawn
as I tumble from warm sheets
into a down coat.

so much green in last
night’s layer – I cannot tell
snowfall from sagebrush.

to have a sense of
place is to have a sense of
the cloud veiled mountains.

snowflakes melt onto
fresh yellow buds – gratitude
is not word enough.


Driving Between

Stop to notice a
curve in the road –
my mountains ahead,

your mountains behind –
both ranges clear,

and upward
reaching.   Marvel
these Rockies

that grow even now
beneath February
snow melting

to river – white heights
clear, attainable,
and utterly

wide open
against the bluest
Colorado sky.


The moon is getting closer
and fuller, and so is
everything.  There is beauty

in the broken sugar bowl,
in the stacks
of dusty books,

dog eared
and leaning. Tree shadows
speckle moonlight

around the lawn
and so we gravitate to
the bright places.

The music is sweet.
Our legs go up
the mountain.  This river

runs on and on.
Water softens
the stone.

Riding in the Rain

On the edge of control
(leaning toward none),
I grip the brakes, tires popping,

spinning over root
and stone.  Humbled
by the hurtling,

I am certain
that I am not the one
controlling this experience.

Look ahead of you,
my friend advises, See
the path you want to take,

not the obstacles
you are trying to avoid.
And between peals of thunder,

everything changes.
Exhilarating raindrops link
the rolling clouds

to our bare arms,
and the way
becomes clear.