[I sew . . .]

I sew

a little red satin heart

for the Tin Man

somewhere inside me

it begins to beat

red lights 9:1,  Jan. 2013

[I sleep . . .]

I sleep

with her cradled

in my arms

this dark animal

we call sorrow

Notes from the Gean 15,  Jan 2013

Sky Moving

I hold you

on my lap, close to my heart—

explaining

your brain scan

the doctor looks away

at last

you stand and walk

lopsided

seizing with one hand

both thorns and flowers

driving miles

out of my way

to bump over train tracks

I follow the power lines

of your first obsessions

rain blots

the edges of your fear

as trees topple . . .

el derecho storms

giving your mind a spin

that wizard

behind the curtain

had real power—

your enchantment with tornadoes

an unbreakable spell

you write the wind

a poem on fluttering paper:

sky moving

blow windy just Earth

thunderstorms rainstrong

too many

syllables for a poem—

the names

they give the tempests

raging in your brain

gazing

at dark sky you ask

if that bright

steady star is Jupiter—

love its never-ending  storm

LYNX  28:1, February 2013

This poem is a tribute to my son, Evan, whose many, many challenges have enriched my life for thirty years, taking me on a never-ending, whirlwind journey through a land as different as Oz.

[standing stones . . .]

who put them here

these standing stones

balanced en pointe

            marking the way

            through the sleeping wood

Atlas Poetica  12, summer 2012

[wild ducks . . .]

wild ducks

pass over the water

like shadows

leaving only streaks of light

. . .  I refold your letter

Moonbathing 7, fall/winter 2012

A letter written nearly seventy years ago--its reader & writer both long gone, leaving only streaks of light.

[bootsoles . . .]

bootsoles

clapping together

another snowstorm

Magnapoets 7, Jan. 2011

[in the new year . . .]

in the new year

can I shed this too-tight skin,

endure

the days of clouded sight

until my eyes grow clear?

first published in Eucalypt electronic challenge Year of the Snake 2013