It Happens


I can see it coming,
small in the distance
just a spot at first,

but I know
it’s coming for me
sure-air, clear
frame my soul,
on my languid pen

til, joyfully I bolt
for the house, tear
through dark rooms,
turn on my dim light,
and breathlessly wait
for the poem
to strike.

Life…by itself


“Life…by itself has neither purpose nor fulfillment.“ Thomas Merton

Fill my day
with soft breezes.

I hear the birds call;
singing bees
with the pleasure
of the sting.

Oh! let me breathe deeply
the innocent air!

Minute by minute
force my life
through thin membranes,

for in the end
sleep will lead me
to bright seas, dreams
of fading mist;

fill it full
with your love!

This Rising



I wanted to be the thundercloud
pounding fury in electric flashes,
but impatiently the earth pulled me down,
and trapped me, like silent, winter tule fog,
pausing over dark, delta waters

until I rose over the darkening valley
and observed the crescent moon
ascending over seaward hills,
effervescent disc
dissolving into death,
while radiant, scimitar edge,
rent the black night.

In the pure air at last,
just beneath the black vacuum of my limit,
I discern the elevated host,
this consecrated, bloody body,
in the agony of redemption,
in the glory of this perfect moment,
this nexus of heaven and earth,
this rising.

Brother Sun


Through soft summer grass,
oh, hear the breeze
whisper the past
and what’s yet to be.

Oh, wanderer through
soft singing leaves,
let brother sun
ignite your bright dreams!



Sweet summer breeze

heavy ripe vines
wine pouring,
time slowly

I write
like there’s
nothing left
in my half-
empty glass

but now the wine’s gone….
day’s too warm
and much too

Morning Harvest


The best apples are near the top
so bringing out my new ladder
I rise through the swaying branches
to reach bright green clusters,

but, intent on windfall, the Suisun breeze
flails the apple leaves
and conspires with swaying limbs
to blow me back down again.

Stubborn human,
I climb to the extreme step
and find them all waiting,
glowing, green, ready.

Rejoicing, I fill my paper sack
until its weight brings me back
to the stationary ground, satisfied
with the morning’s sweet harvest.