hour twelve – running from myself

Running naked through the tall grasses,

no shoes,

no breath,

no exhaustion,

no thirst,

no thoughts,

Just this hunger,

drenched and clinging to me,

I could attempt to peel it off,

but I keep chasing –

everything else intentionally lost or left behind,

wilting and forlorn

I would have cared before,

I would have walked or even turned around,

but now I run and run and run.

steering clear of any still water,

avoiding all reflections that may show me the truth of what I have become,

a beast on the hunt for something that will never nourish me.

hour eleven – birdwatcher

Standing there, with your back to me, binocular eyes staring up at the trees

I startled you, as I was parking my bike

You smiled at me as I headed for the trail

which then seemed like I was following you

You broke the silence and asked if this was a trail

I told you it was the way to the trails, but not the trail trail

I smiled, turned, and kept walking

I should’ve stopped and told you what trail the wood thrush frequents

But I didn’t because I felt shy

Your smile caught me off guard

I didn’t want to fall in love again

Even though I did, I always do

Isn’t that what you’re looking for?

The elusive bird, we spend our days seeking

It’s the sighting that’s the thrill

I put my headphones on

disappeared into the darkness of the woods

hour ten – what is love

What is love? 

An invitation

to share your insides out

to feed each other the marrow

warm inside your bones

to fall so deep

into a well

one you will struggle at times to get out

If you do, you will never be the same

But oh love

It’s worth it

like the whole day spent

Cutting out paper footprints

Three floors worth

To the attic

A path for you to follow

I was nowhere in sight

But you found me

In the candlelit fort

I made from all of our blankets

Dinner waiting

Dessert waiting

This is love, making something out of nothing

This is what I have been doing my whole life

Making love

hour eight – without lyrics

Before, I was

drowning in silence.

Without you would be life without music.

Of all the things that move through me,

as the afternoon sunlight stretches over our bed

I give myself to you, taste my skin

like you do when our legs are tangled.

Our song comes to an end

You carry me to the water and I wait

for something more to come,

I stand naked,

not quite ready to wash away this day

I think about what kind of wood would I need to make a violin.

What about a boat to sail away in?

What about sheet music?

What if I capsize?

I hate to think of all those notes getting lost at sea.

Where does silence come from?

Hour Seven – Viator

I felt as if I was floating

I sat and watched the wind pushing itself across the water

How can I keep this

Feeling from sinking?


No one came for me and yet

I felt as if I was floating

All alone

I watched the bee climb the golden flowers of autumn


She didn’t mind me

Does she have someone that cares for her back at the hive?

I felt as if I was floating

When she called me,


It was unexpected.

I could hear her voice

that whole day

I felt as if I was floating.

Hour six – cornfield

Washing the dishes

I allow the water to run too long

and think about the fertile crescent drying,

saltwater remains.

I think of China, flooding

overflowing rafts of the desperate floating through the city.

Where will they go?

I think about Scientists,

trying to reinvent photosynthesis,

arrogant bastards.

I think of the endless garbage they try to sell us at the grocery store,

the catastrophic repercussions catching up with us as we run towards greed, our hands ready.

I think of the field of corn.

I didn’t believe it

when she told me they used Roundup to kill everything.

He kept asking me, “Did you see the corn?” Like a field of aliens

all sprouting up in a row, tiny little creatures.

I think of the artist and activist Ai Weiwei,

condemning power through a silent gesture of anger.

Like him, I give the finger every time I walk the field, to my neighbor.

No red clover,

No patches of wildflowers,

No red-winged blackbirds,

No laps of solace,

No late nights surrounded by wild eyes and falling stars,

No sanctuary

A whole field of corn

for your tax-free land.

hour five; Clear-Cutting

I don’t know why I said what I did.

I wasn’t even thinking of how to cut you down.  What am I saying?

Your indifference fuels me, forces me to sputter.

Wound tight, like a brand-new rubber ball

bouncing my mouth off, my words hitting hard

Everything I said was true, but how I said it was wrong

A one-sided conversation hewed at with a rusty ax, I couldn’t explain myself

All night I waited to hear it fall,

Come morning it plays over and over again,

changing each time I replay it.

I want to clear-cut the whole forest

Make way for better things, if anything, sunlight.

I was going to apologize, but you needed to be cutdown.

hour four – marriage

I wove our worlds together,

silk, cotton, linen,

wool for the cooler months

nothing synthetic

I would have picked the flax and cotton myself, sheared the sheep even,

but I was in the garden picking herbs and vegetables

for the soup I was making for dinner,

which I would put in the handmade bowls

I made just for us,

with the cups for all the tea I would make for you

and plates to serve meals to our friends that I found and collected

like heart-shaped rocks from the shores of my own travels,

I brought them together over food and sometimes wine

I grew and picked the flowers for the tables we gathered around

I painted paintings to adorn the walls,

knit blankets to keep us warm

and found all the ways I could to make our life beautiful,

even when things got hard.

I grew our children,

in my body,

I carried them through the nausea and fears.

I fed them for six months with my own body.

My body stretched wide and back again,

never to be the same as it once was.

I made it my priority to serve and protect them,

to nurture them,

to love them so fiercely that the love itself became a protection

to keep them from feeling the ways you and I once did

Their tears, their pain, their sadness, their heartaches, their flesh wounds

were all mine to carry and I did,

I do

It is a gift like none other, I know this,

It has been a privilege, I know this too,

but when you stand there and tell me I need to work more,

to make more money,

It makes me want to throw all the dishes at the wall,

tear up the fabric I have spent years weaving together,

and leave everything for you to clean up

Hour Three – Twenty Little Poetry Projects

Wring me out like you did your finest silk shirt that you stained with wine over last night’s dinner.
You know it’s dry clean only!
If you hadn’t wanted more of its oaky aftertaste. If you hadn’t been watching me out of the corner of your eye. If you hadn’t leaned forward to touch my hand. if only you had heard me the first time. if only I hadn’t worn your favorite perfume.
You can’t blame me for this, It wasn’t me that said you taste like a month of Saturdays.
Don’t put on Otis Redding and expect me not to dream of that night we danced in the sand on Presque isle
It’s probably not even real silk, not spun from real worms, but those synthetic ones kept in a plastic jar.
What’s any of it matter, eventually rocks become sand and we will all be fossils.
Anyhow, you’re still all that and a bag of chips. 
I eat the whole bag and want more.
It’s been at least a coon’s age since I’ve felt so reckless
The diaphanous blue of your eyes is like courage making me want to tell you everything
Even still, the coolness of your touch heated everything within me
I grab hold of your face and kiss your lips with the fervor I have been saving for months
Miss Thang is finally living up to her name.
You surrender to your feelings and let me taste the salt on your lips
Your tears dry my eyes
 As the moon rises from my heart
“C’est la vie
The tea kettle cries
So I must leave you to wallow in your own sorrows as I tend to mine.