Dare I stretch my foot to you? Or, why not call a slave? – Lingering—your hands upon my feet— I feel the trickle lick of water. Kneeling? Here for me? Every eye is gazing years at me. With strokes like gentle, soft and strong I feel you wash the silch away, Surprising me how white […]Read more "As I Have Done"
I wonder if that frog thinks the world is just a fevered dream inside his pond… – or does his mirror reflect, in green- translucent shine, the way creation always meant to be?Read more "Frog"
Tonight we cross the waters black as coal. We row beneath the stars we blotted out. The only sound—the sloshing of the waves, relentless echoes of the knife-like pain. We row alone like exiles in the dark. And now you speak who know my troubles best. You feel with me the wounds that plague my […]Read more "A Night of Rowing"
It rushes down the mountain: a cataract of sound a spray of mist and shade-light a roaring, silence round. – I pick my steps on slick-stones, a cat afraid of glass, to plunge my head beneath it and feel it—surging past – I feel the flecking wet sparks I step onto the ledge, but find […]Read more "A Severe Delight"
Pink tree painted like a splash against the sky, grey cloud glowring overhead. Sad stream teardrops striking from the sky green washed willow by the pond. – Fiddlers scatter in the skittle of the rain tall grass bowing to the breeze. Marsh walk lifted like a piece of wooden foam billion pinpricks pattering. – Lamplight […]Read more "A Lowcountry Occasion"
Beware the Ilakoman Vale. There’s something in the waters there— As sweet as honey, strong as ale— That clasps our souls, enchanted there. Beware the Ilakoman Vale. Beneath Beluren’s crowning peak In fields where wilder-poppies grow, They say one hears the valley speak just where the ancient waters flow— Beneath Beluren’s crowning peak. Come […]Read more "The Ilakoman Vale"
In loving memory of my aunt who first saw Jesus with her eyes on March 1st, 2015. Like water passing through your hands and falling down again; like a river flowing near then streaming on again; like chilly rainfall pouring down, refreshing us again, is this simple wooden box, this mound of dirt, the graveside […]Read more "Like Water"