Butterfly hearts





Like a butterfly in a storm,

A house founded on sand,


Our hearts are open

To destruction.


We are wind-tossed creatures.


As constant as a single ocean wave.




A single shift,





And we spin, flailing,

Out of control.


Our best heart

Carved by change and fear

To be our worst heart.


A villain is a hero with nothing to hold but fear.



Where do we stand when the ground shifts?


Where is our refuge when the storm rages?


For me?


On the rock.


In the heart of the master of storms.





To the next

To the next

To the next.



Time cascades,


An endless waterfall of moments

Poured out.


An offering of eternity

poured out on me,

from me.


I ride through the ticks

Of creation,


Sliding through the tocks

of existence


for an endless single moment,

The eternal audience,

The singular frozen moment of the dance.



Time is a word.

Each moment is a word.

A word is a boundaried crystallization of the whole of a thing.



I can’t see the river.


I can only see that part of the river that sweeps me on.


On to the next.

On to the next.

Rusty Bones

My bones are slightly rusty,

Like the Tin Man on day two of his long wait.

Every day starts with a creaking rise from the bed.
Muscles flex and bones groan.
Gradually, my own oils flow to fill the worn gaps.

The body works,

The mind forgets,

(intentional forgetting, I’m sure)

I move down the hill of the day until,

At the bottom,

I fall back into my waiting bed
To accrete a new layer of rust.


Bridge over river.

Dark water under dark sky.

Street lamps at either end,

A hazed moon above

Offer silver light and dancing shadows

As dark trees shift slowly in the faintest breeze.


A woman walks across,

Black skin in a long white dress.

Matronly hips sway easily,

The dress hem sweeps ten inches above the concrete,

The slow dance of here to there

On every early summer night

From now to far back then.


The air soft and warm as a kiss.



Bridge over river.


Dark water under a dark sky.

Porch night

Porch night.


The air is thick and sweet.


Until the breeze stirs it.


The night weighs gently

Of a days-off storm,

Pressing softly,

An ephemeral veil,

With edges of un-fallen rain.


The stars glisten,

Crystalline light with edges hazed.



The storm will come.

The rain will fall.

The wind will whip.


Then it will pass away.


Skies will clear.

Things will grow.


Peace on that far edge of the storm.


On this one,

With soft whispers,

A porch night.

Shared skies

Night sky

Open the door.

Into the dark.

Three steps down.



Charcoal trees

With charcoal leaves

Whisper in a warm charcoal breeze

And cover the sky.


One clear space,

A ring in the trees,

Frames a window to the stars above.

Diamonds on slate.



Beneath the stars,

Above the leaves,

A jet carves a path,



Marked by the rhythm of its light

And the faint slash of its contrail

(a faint, pale memory of places been).


The moon hides

This indigo night.


Miles away,

She looks up too.

The jet blinks silently in her sky.


Our sky.


Crickets sing

As we share the sky.


This world is vaster,



Than my feet can ever walk,

Than my eyes can ever see.

The world beyond the world

Vaster still.


Tastes beyond the breadth of a tongue,




More than all the breaths I can draw,

Dance and tantalize

Beyond every hill,

Every sunset.


My skin wraps me,

The outer boundary of my outer self

And there isn’t enough of it to feel

The scratches,


Burrs and scrapes,

Caresses and strokes,


The eternity of touches

In the eternal world.



Might as well bail the ocean with a tea cup.



Draw in the sky through a drinking straw.



The symphony is vaster than I can hear.


Let me taste the honey on my tongue,

See the light of just this dawn,

Smell the rose before my face,

Feel the brush of this night wind,

Hear the waves on this shore.


Just this place and just this time.


The unbound me,

Eternal me,

Infinite me

Can walk this path

From this place

To this place

To this place.


World without end.