Monday, October 31, 2016

Sunday, October 30, 2016

As much and as blue

The path through the park — and by park, we mean sprawling acreage by the river, buried in leaves — is flanked by brambles and cottonwood trees. In sunny places, dandelions and rain-patient bees. In shade, maple leaves seem thousands of hands — a father’s, a mother’s, an aunt’s, all blessing, caressing, the land. Frog-song. Birds in the breeze. A rich-pastel ocean-sky, as much and as blue as you need, as white and as gray, and as each in-between, rich-rose, dawn knows, evening shows, budding at noon, blooming at three. Muskrat-splash. Trees down. Water up. Scum-pond. Lilies gone. Wake out to center. Shimmer of sun. A hush and we’re gone.

Saturday, October 29, 2016


The mushrooms emerge as white and perfect little buttons, then quickly grow to clown-size and are nibbled by squirrels. Then they suddenly flatten, turning themselves into wide shelters for who knows how many elves and other forms of life — triple, quadruple, dimplyduple — only to become concave sky-mirrors holding perfect pools of rainwater, which sits in them for days. I suppose you’ve seen them, perhaps even given one an inadvertent nudge, only to find you’ve toppled a great city. But fear not, for the great communication goes on — the whispers, the chasms, the rope-bridges, the scented language of their song.

Friday, October 28, 2016

Sweet smoke unseen

Kicking through the leaves, sweet smoke unseen clings to me, as if I’m here — as if it means in part to be that part you see you think is clear — as if it dreams we’re gently naked trees, our limbs so near — as if it brings awakening, without hastening, my love, my dear.

Thursday, October 27, 2016

Canvas 781

Canvas 781

October 27, 2016

Fall guy

Speaking of birch leaves, they’ve given us a yellow roof and rain gutters full of fluff. And during downpours, pouring durdowns, sheets of yellow stuff. Hands in downspouts, believing is deleaving, and that is no ladder day bluff.

Wednesday, October 26, 2016

Warm between rains

Yesterday, through our bedroom window, we noticed a birch leaf caught in a spider web above our blueberry bush, the fine lace secured by main lines attached to fence and eave. Thread by thread, the spider untied the lace from the leaf until it fell and landed in the bush, yellow on red, as if names could color such things. Then she set about her repairs. This morning, she is hidden away, sheltered from the wet, perhaps beneath the very same leaf. And life — life, is our sanctuary.

Monday, October 24, 2016



We used to have a table that folded. When I tried to draw it, it rebelled.

Friday, October 21, 2016

all you believe softly

all you believe



to the ground

a rainy mushroom mound

a yellow leaf to make a sound

so near your far

is here

Thursday, October 20, 2016

light as light as light

little lights, glowing in the dark,
yours in your dark, mine in mine,

make our dark, make our light,
dark in your light, dark in mine,

light as light as light,

little stars, twinkling in the dark,
twinkle your eyes, twinkle mine,

bright as bright as bright,

see us dark, see us light,
no more wrong, no more right,

sight as sight as sight.

Wednesday, October 19, 2016


Leaves adrift, across a pond, faith in life, faith in love,

bless this day, the earth below, the sky above,

this everlasting childhood!

Sunday, October 16, 2016

the moon behind clouds

the moon behind clouds where no one can see her

and I dare say she feels the same way

about the grace of a face hidden by lace that the sea wove

and that the night holds in place with kind fingers

Saturday, October 15, 2016

I love the dream of touching you

I love the dream of touching you so lightly
you don’t know I’m here.

And then you touch me,
almost knowing, but not quite where.

As if, love, we are air,
and touching is our only care.

Friday, October 14, 2016

Canvas 776

Canvas 776

October 14, 2016

yesterday afternoon, in the deep-dark rain

yesterday afternoon, in the deep-dark rain,
a hummingbird paused long enough to explain
the joy it all is — the hunger, the pain,
and all that remains

of the print of our lips
on the steamy-wet window glass.

Thursday, October 13, 2016

Canvas 775

Canvas 775

October 13, 2016

This was done with my fingertip,
as were the last several drawings.

Canvas 774

Canvas 774

October 13, 2016

just enough to satisfy the urge

Tuesday, October 11, 2016


October 11, 2016

Lower South Falls
Silver Falls State Park, Oregon

the mist of its meaning

when you write the spirit and the body sings the song

and the mist of its meaning is the morning coming on

look up from your dreaming and remember me love

Monday, October 10, 2016

If me I do not seem

I am not here to prove or be anything.

As long as I seem me, I simply live the dream.

And if me I do not seem, perchance wonder will explain.

Yes, sweet wonder, the same which makes me sing.

Sunday, October 9, 2016

Wednesday, October 5, 2016

Canvas 767

Canvas 767

October 5, 2016

Canvas 766

Canvas 766

October 5, 2016

love has no opinion

love has no opinion

a cedar in the rain keeps only what she needs

peace is a wise old tree

there is always time for a leaf to fall

among the graves

no one sees


Tuesday, October 4, 2016

Canvas 765

Canvas 765

October 4, 2016

within you a door without

within you a door without

a key

a lock

a frame

a knob

a hinge

a side

a pane

a need

a blame

a space

a place

a name

swings sweetly all the same

my blues my dues my muse my friend

Monday, October 3, 2016

given the moment

given the moment might be our last,
does it not seem well to live it in kindness and thanks,
and hold the door open as we pass?

now the speed of light

now the speed of light is something else altogether

says a voice in one universe to an ear in another

as the sound shines on the face in the space in between

Sunday, October 2, 2016