Tuesday, February 18, 2014

Secret Big Top

“A secret about the One who has made us all – nuts” –Hafiz

Have you seen her?
Not the one foam born,
yes, center pole for our family big top
rising from the froth of babies
born from the cosmic swirl
of our clan’s own creation myth,
wherein it is told
Lilith and Eve took Adam
and Lucy teased Ricky
and Jane hung out with Tarzan
and Amelia courted Alphonse.
Our creator is a late bloomer
full of holly berries and turmeric
crusty with November mud
wafting long in moments
of frying onions and cedar shavings
of vanilla and Chanel.

She's breaking hearts now
wailing in C# to see if
the world is still vulnerable to her charms
yowling at Venus instead of the moon
stirring dreams like they were typhoons
of fractals hatched from the push of blue wings.

Thursday, February 13, 2014

First Snowfall

with minute focus
the sun finds me
it's a mirror I can't ignore
first snowfall 
extols the glory of winter
and sunrise explodes into
a billion shining moments 
snowy limb to limb
I am the trampoline 
learning to find resilience
in the synergy of 10 am 
when radiance
is bucking its boundaries
erupting with an ode to joy
pretending it's just an avalanche
surging sunward
on tiny feathered engines
if I resort to chasing the jet-streams
I'll never learn the art
of making my road authentic 
and bringing us home

Sunday, February 9, 2014

Move Over

This life is big, room for everything
generations long, incarnations deep.
We'll be the echo bouncing
between first moment and what's possible.

Imagine how remarkable this encounter,
my newest granddaughter, Maia
with her crystal dreams of me 
in the holy mire of 12th century Wales.

I am amused, for even in such a boundless home
our stuff tends to eddy as clutter
close around us, the grand piano,
the chiffonier, the waterbed and the bookcases.

If I grouse about my stranding on some imagined island, 
audaciously feeling hemmed in, it's on me.
The epic frontier waits here, just beyond 
the edge of convention or the morning mirror.

And the March winds are right on time,
ready to rise in our bellies, open our hearts, 
sweep out the cobwebs, the dead limbs.
Blackberry winter, sprawling as New Jersey, wants in.

Friday, February 7, 2014

How to Rouse a Pewter Sky

Start at the edges
where it begins to fold 
into frozen pond,
run your fingers slowly 
between that tiny seam of earth and sky,
warm gradually,
feel for the ember,
it's under thin ice,
press it to your palm
allow that cool rind of doubt to soften
wrap it thrice around
your first thought after waking,
blow them both a kiss
with swish of swallow
it can scatter stupid notions
about brittle and hope and winter. 
there, already
this steely mood shifts,
pewter sky to morning robe;
the rest is duck soup.

Thursday, February 6, 2014


"Mirabai says, 
my Beloved is a steeped herb,
he has cured me for life."

Twenty three thousand times today
my lungs will collude with my heart to find you.
A sandalwood base note, a silk rug 
wants to carry us another day 
but it grows thin. I drag the air 
for passage beyond  this time and place 
with a drift of apricot and amber.
Like chambered nautilus, I'll curl
around the last molecules 
of your scent mingled with mine.

Look, the ground shimmers in ghost trails,
and breath implores its caravan.

Wednesday, February 5, 2014


Hang my heart in a southeast corner
to catch the morning breeze.
You mind the wind, strumming its canopy 
with a contagious lament. I know
love is no private matter, more like 
a circus or Sunday parade. So 
let it feel brilliant and raise holy fuss,
you know where that can lead. 
We'll drift as this heart bongs on and on, 
a metronome echoing rubies.

Tuesday, February 4, 2014


Nothing fits
feet in the wrong shoes
face squinched
ribs shrunk
something grew overnight
push! said the radicle

Monday, February 3, 2014


What purrs in the belly
opens a way to my heart
makes obsession promise
to carry me tightly
one day at a time
promise a hejira
soul journey 
no maps
just follow the stars
that rise as earth turns 
that billow within finch chatter
that shine in my eyes, in yours
in dreams of babies with flaxen curls,
within the ache of Ariadne.

Sunday, February 2, 2014

Flat Water

like flat water 
sweet is somber is stillness
rest today
I dreamed of vining tendrils, 
each nested in a vibration
 liquid song like baby's breath
outside the morning wears white 

Shakti Rising 1

Angel in my back pocket
Pokes me like a rare penstemon
Crimson rising from ivory
To whisper - no answers today
Golden twine, next pocket
Threads our magnificence
Mind each moment
The labyrinth pulls us in