Poems, Prose, Photos & the Art of Being Human
you would be my loon calling long past light, my mourning dove, my sweetest finch flashing sun from black as night. If my bird you were I'd feed you nectar from my palm and plant thick trees for you to rest and nest until I could transform my arms and hands to feathered limbs— our hearts remade as song.
Thank you to the editors of The Tishman Review for first publishing this poem.
Contagious as your hummingbird smile may be, it is your hands... hands that sculpt ki into a dragon's mouth with arcs of mother-of-pearl framing rainbow flames that smell of warm milk and nutmeg, while your touch draws the breath of muscle to bone, then deeper. Too few lines cross your hands, large, almost too large, they hold the sea.
Thank you to the editor of Something Like Homesickness for first publishing this poem.
Ki–Japanese word meaning energy or life force.
did you see three green bugs eating coffeecake flowers & squirming on bellies as they danced to the beat of caramel kisses from here to their hole?
Thank you to the editors of The Magnetic Poetry Book of Poetry for first publishing this poem.
Nothing is less real than realism. Details are confusing. It is only by selection, by elimination, by emphasis, that we get at the real meaning of things.
You must learn to be still in the midst of activity and to be vibrantly alive in repose.
