Month: February 2018

A single second—only one, “one one-thousand”—that is all. And in that space, a race is won, a hawk strikes, a dove falls; the rain begins, the drought is done, the atom splits, the future calls.   Time enough to say, “I do,” and seal a love against the fates; or, beseeching, “I love you,” regardless… Continue reading Precious Seconds →

In the picture—winter brown, an icy river winds its way past the evening’s frozen ground, rolling slowly south, around the beauty of its younger day.   Once it was a glacial run, racing over rocks and spills, strong and shining in the sun, moving boulders—never done raging through the ragged hills.   Oh, the wild… Continue reading Old Man River →

Interrupting simple sleep and unsuspecting resting eyes, a sound startles in the deep, announcing end of someone’s life.   Alarmingly—as if a horn— the phone rings, loud and cold. He’s gone—a voice says—early morn, and gone, serenity of old.   No tolling bell or mourning doves, no heralding of angel’s flight. One more passing, one… Continue reading Phone Call in the Night →

When wind is still, and tide is low, revealed: the dark and weeping wood, the vestiges of long ago.   Halfway down the beach, the bones of pilings stand (where people stood) when wind is still and tide is low.   Their histories, their lives and loves, the sunfilled days and moons of gold? Whispers… Continue reading Wreckage of the Natatorium of 1886: A Villanelle →

  One path emerged, in fall, midday, leading left from foot-worn trails. It bore a warning—walk one way— granting time to turn away, back through scented sagebrush hills.   Tempted, though not feeling bold I took the path, began to climb. Sage to rock turned gray and cold daring me to scale, grab hold the… Continue reading Polished Walls →

I vow to never be land locked— no Kansas home for me. There I’m bound to stray off course. My compass is the sea.   I wouldn’t choose to be walled in by trees, however grand. My soul seeks to see beyond the frontiers of the land.   I would wither, stranded far away from… Continue reading A West Coast Lover’s Vow →

The paper glares—naked, white. I nod, I stare, I cannot think, but it demands I try to write.   I'll make up an excuse tonight: my printer has run out of ink. The paper glares—naked, white.   To prime the pump, make things right, I think I’m going to need a drink. The paper says… Continue reading The Empty Page: A Villanelle →

The warbler dies with little sound— the slightest bump on window pane. The dog’s ears lift, then fall again; the bird is silent on the ground.   Wind blows swiftly, time won’t stop, north of us infernos burn, waves curl and seasons turn— even though the warbler drops,   and lies in dirt, its wings… Continue reading The Yellow Warbler, Part I →