Tag Archives: nature photography

They Hold the Sea

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.


Ki–Japanese word meaning energy or life force.

Thank you to the editor of Something Like Homesickness for first publishing this poem.

Are There Lizards in Your Family Tree?

Are There Lizards in Your Family Tree?

Do you scuttle lithely sand and stone,

peek out from rocks through half-shut lids

while others’ hands are clasped in dance

beneath the bone-white crescent slit?


Are your eyes autonomous,

right darts to lips and left to toes;

as softer flesh sips steamed orgeat

do you watch the spoon, the ankles cross?


Do you begin each day with push-ups

then shield yourself from sun in shade;

when threatened do your muscles flex,

your speech reduce to a chortling hiss?


Do others comment, How cold your hands,

How dry your skin—do you dream of

grasshoppers sweet in your mouth, or

screaming wake from the jaws of a snake?


Thank you to the editor of Something Like Homesickness for first publishing this poem.

wing print

This is a wing print left on our window just like we might leave hand smudges. While a bird clearly hit the window, it survived and flew away.

While Zoe snagged a version of this for her photoblog  http://bonegirlpix.wordpress.com/2010/04/18/wing-print-left-on-window/

it warrants words as well. Besides I like the color in this version as it reminds me of a winged Sufi heart.

I’m not sure what led to the color, though I placed a music stand on the other side of the glass to better capture the print and the greens/reds were likely reflected from my side of the glass.



How his crew cut head froze, poised above the place I could not see between my thighs,his short rodent hair arcing from my hairless mound, my mind providing the anesthesia of amnesia as if a spinal block flowed through a slender needle, numbing my body clean. And now that you’ve cut your long wheat field hair, he is the one I see near my belly, holding a switchblade against the rivulets of warmth that run from your tongue through my lips, radiating out hips thighs breasts arching back outstretched fingers. Remembering till now only my hatred of him, but as your fingers touch my inner thigh, images slice through muscle of his hand on my throat, palm in my stomach, head pressed into the opening I could not see, and I want to run from your arms which have held me warm against your chinchilla skin. As your pomegranate taste hits the back of my throat, his rancid stench catches, numbs my body clean.

Thank you to the editor of Rising to the Dawn for publishing this poem.