I sit under the willow tree

waiting for the approaching storm.

And it comes with a

gust of wind.

I sit under the willow tree

Watching the storm

Destroy everything it can.

It blows over the trees

I used to tread over damp ground

yet seek shelter from the rain.

Those wilted lives, half-truths

fed to half-lovers, are gone.

The hollows of your cheeks

are cracked like parched earth

from years wasted needing me to kiss you.

Minor fissures,

Just hairline cracks,

Spread slowly

At first,

Fine lines on a

Smooth surface;

Creeping across a

Marble plain,

Barely making

A sound, but

Marking - scarring

The peace the nations had promised

Some days that were gold

Now all fade into stardust

Disappearing with the old

It’s a long way home,

miles of pavement and sky.

As we drive,

the sun chases us,

and the clock turns.

Radio changes,

melodies blur together,

making one endless song,

duets and duets of notes.

The Ponderosa Pines hunched ponderously,

Their convoluted gestures frozen

With dry, rasping limbs in stages of vexation

And narrow forearms lifted high

In savored moments of exalted epiphany.

My brother and I climbed the questions

Although I have never been,

I can smell the condensed aroma

of fresh bread in the bakery,

occupying its place in the noses of bypassers.

Although I have never been,

I can distinguish between the flavor

of black and green olives,

The twisted metal trees

Rise up from the heap

Magpies hop about

The glittering savannah

And crows harass the mice

Nesting in the chewed

Leather seat

Of a Volkswagen

A scruffy dog

Stalks the crows

Since the first breath of life,

one adventure to the next,

I can only reflect back in fondness

to the scattered pieces of my heart.

The light tapping of rain, loud at first, but slowly becoming weaker and weaker, grabs me; takes hold. I open the squeaky front door and peek a single foot outside. The vivid green grass begs for me to be a companion while it slowly moves in the ever-slightest of winds. So I walk...

I am a tree

tall and skinny

my roots run deep

and my leaves are big,

and grow up high.

Nearby are my family trees,

from which my seed came.

A bit further are my friends

of all shapes kinds and sizes.

I couldn’t see the ocean, I couldn’t see the waves.

I didn’t even know there were waves.

Just a blue blur, like paint splattered on a blank canvas

Tripping over nothing,

Catching something that wasn’t there

A trick of the mind it was.

Down the winding path I stroll, through woods dark

And deep, where mystery and magic roam.

A swift stream runs here; high above, a lark

Sings sweet and clear, in a voice that calls “home.”

Onwards, a low growl comes from some deep cave

there was a river/in the black hills/that my favorite trail followed/with pine trees lining

its banks/of hard ground and towering rocks//i would beg my father/to walk that trail/

as far as it went/as many days as i could//and as we walked he would/recite poems from

It’s been five days,

But more than five days have been accomplished

It doesn’t feel like years have past,

Only that the beginning seems like years ago

It’s time to leave, to another world

But the world we leave will never leave us

It was a scorchingly hot summer day in June when I walked up toward the house from the barn, heading toward the old cedar tree near the house. The tree had bird feeders hanging on it, and probably I was going to check the feeders to see how much seed they had in them.

Have you seen her? You must have seen her,

she’s one of the trees, with all the rain

that she can bear:

Eye color? Colorado green.

Hair color? The evening sun.

Don’t mistake her voice

for the hidden opal stream.

I wake early before the birds are stirring

Loading the car with all the supplies

Long drive in the dark with the tires whirling

I get to the land before sunrise

The rain is immediate, and collects in every pore like blood clots. 

For this moment, coiled small, a child’s figure shaking sleep —

I move. Pulsing water smudges the dented car hood

three blocks down, and there is a caution to both of our actions.