Friday, November 15, 2013


At the confluence of the creeks there
I released the spirit and memory
of the one who held your name, ho,
the one who held your name.

She flowed back out
as watery eddies,
dancing among broad, solid rocks
(buried just beneath the surface).  
Rocks smoothed
by aeons of carving,
by an ancient flow
from an

How this flow remains
I don’t know;
we seem to get in the way of it so.

But there she is, just afore I release her.
I speak to her.
Whether she hears
is far beyond my knowing.

I barely hear myself.
It’s a quiet conversation.
It’s women’s business.

It’s done.
And there
she flows.

Wednesday, November 13, 2013

A love letter without the romance

I see you
I see me
I hear you
I hear me.
There is space to witness
There is space to let
love emerge from us
Without strings,
tentacles and romance,
whatever that was anyway.

Occasionally, I can
imagine your scent.
It’s not that I choose to.
But somehow, that scent
exists in my
room, in my nose,
a thousand miles or more from
where you are.

It exists in this space,
the space that allows
appreciation, the space
that allows all the lessons
to sink in,
become part of my DNA.
We are each other’s teachers, we are each other’s students.
There is love
in this space,
in this distance.
There is love.