Monthly Archives: May 2013


An idea of sunlight                    (originally published in Abbey, 2010)

In my mind
All that is poignant has died
The silence of the arrow
As it listens to the wind
The starry reflections
Of a crow’s glass eye
The lonely strength of a cactus
In a desert thunderstorm

I waited for far too long
Waited for something I could not recognize
Waited for the patterns in the dust
To settle in the sunlight
Now I am lost
With only the idea of sunlight remaining

Yesterday I realized
There is someone out there
Who will dig my grave
And I started writing him a poem
But I could not see anything
Except the shovel and the dirt

I could not even imagine his hands

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Posted by on May 21, 2013 in previously published



Stonor’s Eagles                                             (college)
(from the novel by William Horwood)

I roam
Through winds that eagles fly–
      Harsh mountain winds
      Swirling and crashing
      Against cliff faces–
Looking for a place to roost.
I whisper prayers into the night
To Gods I don’t know
Except in legend.
My face
Becomes my father’s face,
My eyes
His eyes.

Clouds form
And become the wings of the Gods–
And I am filled with sorrow.
Rain falls from the wings
And I sleep into my dreams.

Ocean breezes wake me
And my father’s face
Becomes my face,
His eyes
My eyes.
Terns rise in breeding flights
And I smile
And let the wind lift me up,
No longer frightened,
Through mountain passes.
Shelters appear
But I fly by
Taking joy in the rain
And the swirling wind
Pushing me upward.

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Posted by on May 20, 2013 in college



Tumbleweeds and the Suburb

A California tumbleweed rolls across the road, bouncing like a ball of flimsy, resilient
wood (which it is). Bounce, fly in the breeze, come down, hit the road, flex and give in
like a boxer’s face wrapping around a fist in slow motion, then bounce back up again.
Down the road. It disappears. Man, don’t they all. I’m shocked it even showed up
in the first place. Now that California is one huge suburb, L.A. stretching to Arizona,
tumbleweeds must have left. I hadn’t seen one in years. Maybe this was the last
bouncing tumbleweed. It had to dodge cars, backyard barbecues and Saturday morning
lawnmowers just to get to this place. Just trying to find its own home. Man, aren’t we

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Posted by on May 19, 2013 in Uncategorized



The Illusion of Speed  
                                                     (to be published in Cantos, 2014)
In an airplane heading east,
Ground passing beneath
Calm in its repose,
I realize
The universe is expanding faster
Than our limited steel and flesh.
I am farther from the edge
At every second.
I am being left behind
And suddenly I feel unimportant.

I’m inside a speck of light
A star can’t see.

No matter how fast I go
I will never reach the edge
To see what the universe
Is expanding into.

And inside this speck of light
Inside this speeding body
Inside my limited flesh
I feel a nothingness bloom
And expand.

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Posted by on May 18, 2013 in previously published



Colibri                         (college)

We were close
But our touch
Was the melding of shadows
Caressing on a hillside.
We laughed.
Ours was the freedom
Of hummingbird wings
But night
And time
And our fleeing shadows
Abandoned us.
We are close again
But miles of mountain roads
And cloud covered sunsets
Stand between our shadows
Denying us
Even our ethereal touch.

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Posted by on May 17, 2013 in college



The unbroken line

She has a tattoo around her neck–
a snake chasing itself
the fangs about to bite the tail.
I stare at it
as she smoothly gathers her blonde hair
and twirls it into a loose bun
right above the snake’s eyes.
I want to ask her of the significance.
Is it about eternity, infinity, or the futility of our lives?
Is it to remind her to be careful or to risk?
Is the snake symbolic of God, the devil, or her boyfriend?
As I am staring at the snake
in anticipation of its bite and finding the answer
she turns quickly
looks me in the eye
and then turns back to say something
to her friend in German.
Embarrassed, I look away, but too late.
She releases her hair from the bun
and the snake is hidden
behind a blonde curtain of beauty.
And I decide,
for good or for bad,
that perhaps the snake is about me–
my fangs about to swallow my tail
my eyes hidden now behind long blonde hair.

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Posted by on May 16, 2013 in Uncategorized



Atlas’ Lover

You come to me
When your shoulders ache,
Worn with the impression of islands,
And I soothe you
With my small hands.
I gently rub out mountains
And you say my fingers
Are ocean waves
Sure of their direction.
You match your breathing to my rhythm.

But too soon
You remember your power.
You miss the warmth of weight
And the feel of the mountains
So you leave my small hands.
But I know, too,
The secrets of the earth.
So I wait,
Sure that waves
Wear down any rocky shore.

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Posted by on May 15, 2013 in Uncategorized



Jocelyn’s tears

water of her body
evaporating as it lies on her cheeks
      moistening the air around us

she takes one tear
               on her fingertip
      so clear it looks painted
                       (perfection in liquid)

she holds it to the light and says:
                       (in the middle of her sadness)

               “My tears are beautiful”

                       (perfection in liquid
                       evaporating between us)

I breathe deeply
   wanting to take that part of her
into my lungs
      my brain
      my words

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Posted by on May 14, 2013 in Uncategorized



Sevenling  (somehow, when she looks at me)

Somehow, when she looks at me
I feel like I am a part of some great experiment
Schrodinger’s cat, Pavlov’s dog, NASA’s monkey

I want to scream at her
Get me out of this box, stop ringing that bell,
Bring me home

She just goes on taking notes with her eyes

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Posted by on May 13, 2013 in sevenling



a million kisses

you entered my life
       with the softness
       of ten fingers
              times a thousand caresses
       and two lips
              times a million kisses
and my breathing changed
       slow and easy
       but charged with little particles
       of fire
       encircles my words
       turning them into music–
              the music listened to
              by the sky and the wind
and if my touch were the plague
       I would have killed you
              six times this morning
              (six hundred in my mind)

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Posted by on May 12, 2013 in Uncategorized