A place to gather words before they get lost.

Fallen wood from this tree feeds this fire, such bones of the storm

This ash from the fire will soon feed the tree, such seeds to be reborn

I bury thick dark remains of what's left of flame into soil, listening for future song

this path follows the river

we follow the path that follows the river that follows elevation and time-worn indentations of earth

we follow the river that follows the elevation and indentations past the towns and the cities to the ocean we can't see but still believe

we follow the path that follows the river that follows no one, not even me, and so is free

Whose mind is now changed by circumstance and time, and who's mind might not?

An email out of nowhere with such a lovely welcome of curious voice and youthful wonder, reaching out into the unknown to the teacher, me, passing words with a passion for writing and honey bees, of Hermit Crabs, and all things, ocean

Between Jump and Landing

I hold my breath to watch you leap, catch you midair, in flight, like youth, and release you only when you land, when your head surfaces above water

where the river winds into brook, tumbles into rock, discovers the bends, returns again - that's where

Invisible threaded muses in earbuds and head shakes, with dance moves and earthquakes, send forth what science calls sound; the air vibrates, the ear calibrates, the head only knows what the heart has found

Tongue, as landing board for rain; for water, again; for summer's remains

for Algot

Whose face are you, pinned to this inner wall, in this public gallery, gazing through, the wreckage and remains, of these shattered truths?

inspired by display at MassMOCA

Anxiety seeps beside me like tea inside the kettle

I'm nearly static at rest, and then rip through the lines of threadbare opening when the hot water hits

Sip me, then, gentle, and soothe me with your lips;

Soon, the cup will be empty of anything but memory