A face flowered for heart’s ease



The rain moved just like our momma did when she’d tuck all three of us in.


16: American Sentence for Real Toads

i’ve tasted afternoon

&what light can do, –
shedding dust,
revealing just how much of
a sequined party is going on,
when all i can do is pass
unauthorized green veins,
pink husks invisibly through it
–heartbreak hands never
quite catching the light;
stirring the catalogued years
of wheat fields waving.
gold is the color i taste.


for Twiglet & Real Toads

Winter Solstice

before the unfolding of any words
could have put you in a different
you pressed the shine of day
beneath my eyelids
when the world was at its most tilted
and real
making me feel i could hold you
a little while longer
like a preschooler squeezing momma’s knees

but your image went down too fast –
dreary into evening’s woeful partings

{for Poetic Asides}


As only the lucky
breathe foam
only breathe
the rhythm of
give &take
salt &knees

As only the lucky
drink morning
in a bay the shape
of a perfect
half circle
a cupped hand

As only the lucky
I sometimes stand
in a doorway &reach
for the sweep of
a blessing

As only the lucky
&I know how
we extend flesh
like seaweed
liquid sunlight

day 4 NaPoWriMo
for Real Toads

For Kendra

my heart’s eye
the ministry
of the moon

coming down
in collective
bits of sunshine
pouring past the sill

and no earth
stood between
her pearl bath
and my pillow

and these three
words pressed in-
first love
(and) mother


In Broad Daylight


in broad daylight
a rain falls from the sky~
darkness and light

Governor of Light

governor of light!
you have passed through the darkness
lifted up mine head

Weekly Writing Challenge: Haiku Catchoo!

The Light of Things

“Come forth into the light of things, let nature be your teacher” ~ William Wordsworth

The middle of the day speaks to me, and why shouldn’t it when I live so close to untamed country. Trespassing seems more like a divine invitation than a sin, so I jump the fence (again) and run. My heart races as I dodge bleached bones of a cow in rightly order, ruts carved in the dusty path, and wayward wire among the valley’s native grass. I run until I reach the dry creek bed, and before the machine shop dogs catch wind of me I turn back. Alone on this hoof-beaten path, I power over mounds of earth, going up, then down, before I’m taken by surprise by such an indescribable moment, that I hesitate before repeating It here. Some might call it a teaching, while others need convincing that a passionate warmth spreading over me is any kind of instruction at all.

Anyway, I stopped–

out of reverence for a holy consumption of me and the land, while everything faded to a weightless white. For a moment I thought I was being raptured through this personal bathing, right there in my sweaty socks among the sprigs of grass!

and He smiled on me,

a white wheat at harvest time,

spellbound in His field

inspired by~