7 May

It’s the chaos season,
and the weather lately has all the safety
of life itself;
boiling one day, hailstones the next.

It’s the action-era,
trigger-pull politics,
the virtues of grinding heels and
vices of feeling.

It’s the time of concealing,
beetle shell, reptilian hue,
t.v. glowing blue in the well-shuttered window.

It’s the Stonecutter’s hour,
rock, paper, scissors,
returning us to what we already know.



22 Apr

This heart is a nebula;
bottomless spirals
reflected in clouds
of dark-brewed tea.

My spit is the water of snowflakes
born of the sea;
my sweat,
the nurturing torrents
of the Nile River.

Resonant pulse beneath the flood,
I long to pierce the Veil,
to take in the music of
time and space,
water and sky –

quiet murmurs of the paradox.


Qui Vive

19 Apr

Three a.m. thoughts
crash and precipitate,
a rush of water cascading down jagged rock.

The deluge
drowns me out,
and I want to stand my ground,
but every point is equal,
like the surface of a sphere:
ultimate democracy.

Nothing is quite as real in the dark,
except me.  I feel myself sharply outlined,
conspicuous mar on the still blanket of night.

My weary eyes seek out
the moon,
the comforting speckle of starlight,
but tonight, tonight
the sky is a cloudy sea, and
even the stars are lost.



13 Apr

time vapors
off cracking skin,
dancing with the messengers
against an orange backdrop
of radiated silence;
the ruins like roadkill,
wrecked and forgotten.

one foot falls, and again, again,
along the blackened puddles,
among the fossils of steel-framed dinosaurs,
and the empty cupboards of section 8 housing.
eyes slide along
saturnine visions,
a jaded window-shopper,
eyes like ash after a life of flame.

but then,
stepping light over dandelions
poking through concrete,
manes glowing yellow against gray –
a flicker of terrible joy,
a heart’s quickening,
and one tear falls,
like water in the desert.


dreams, green with fire,
manifest and grow,
spring forth from the cracks.

and deep roots awaken
to bring life once more
to a ravaged space
eclipsed by war.


Urakami-Tenshudo, Hiroshima, January 1946

Autumn Gray

8 Apr

Rain pelts
down through
vaporous sky:
the tiny bursts of each drop
crackle together
and hum, and drum.

On the sidewalks,
worms are dying,
washed out strands of earth
trapped and drowned
on concrete.

A large one wriggles
slowly, moves its head in
something like confusion.
I pick it up and return it to grass,
which glistens and shudders,
under the wet barrage.


5 Apr

the sunlight,
glazed immortal –

pianos in his head;
the same notes played progression.
saw a passing reflection
in the window of a car.
no expression,
like the echoing pulse in his hand.

rambling apparition,
jaded ethereal.

walks the blocks of house-shaped mailboxes,
cracked pavement and loose rocks scattering
away from
the soundlessness
of his worn-out sneakers.

the moment lives only through movement,
heart beats once for every step.

and the world is turning a little faster today,
the sky all hung with dust and time.
can’t stop now:

make the memory.