In all things,

at all times,

you will abound with everything you need.

re: being with your best friend

on loving your women

and how going out for breakfast is my new favorite thing: confession (I've done it five times in the past eight weeks, even once with Kia at 6:30 before school). Come on.

That house, the one by the river, wooden
with windchimes and driftwood and rain on the windows

The river, called Siuslaw, was a wide mouth,
giant logs cast down, rapid and uncrossable.
In the enclosed porch, I sat quietly, fingered fishermen's twine, listened.

The weather today reminds of Bré, Ireland,
and the cliff path we walked all afternoon to neighboring Greystones.
I am back in Monteverde, Costa Rica, the Cloud Forest and its "cat whisker" rain.

I called for the orange kitten again today as I followed Cedar.
It did not come.
Perhaps it is curled up near a window inside.

Shiloh Hill smelled all of pine, damp and deep.
My bare arms were chilled, but I was adamant.
The mountains now deep green (only Dominion and the top of Paradis have kept their snow),
my footsteps sturdy and ears searching for the wind.

Stratford-on-Avon

the scratch of a nearby man's charcoal, river scene translated to parchment
moves the pencil between my fingers
and quietly seconding the prayers, few and far between, of an aging woman
can calm a stormy, seasick heart.

these days are changing and swift, lit by silvery light
(and how am i still starved for words, for art, for friendship?)

on the path to anne hathaway's flowered cottage this morning,
sleeping ducks turned running footsteps to the softness of moccasins
silent i tread, not to wake them

in willows sweet, cooing pigeons roost in twiggy nests
and serene river banks itself in green, green, green
disguising the cholera, polio, & flesh-eating bacteria (what?!) it carries

when john fainted, he hit his head so hard he thought he was blind
i touched his arm, i held his hand. i was afraid.

now i meditate in graveyard, along dirty, pretty river,
across from manicured golf course
(oh, i long for wildness!)
but this will do, this tourist trap of a town, its scones and rich tea,
this will do.

[put your ear to the ground.]

Read the whole thing here.

swimming against the current

oh those nights
of unspoken promises and small disappointments and secret, unshed tears

i was burrowing for a while, back into that hole for foxes
but then your voice came from the earth itself

and i remember now, your name is Shepherd.