Tuesday, November 27, 2007


My melancholy has burst out into full color
full out in strong autumn sun and dances
in a crazy blue sky to see a white birch in a muddy field
followed along by a white fence guarding a milk-filled cow.

Withdrawing into winter's heart; residual joy gleams the veins of leaves wrought amber in my eye--purplish and red: painfully bright in a green lawn next sharing space with a gravel road, brown and wet and gray

These pieces fitted
make changes, once reviewed,
congruous--dripping with purpose and hope

Thursday, November 01, 2007


White paper morning--crispy shavings of a backlit moon
I find myself praying in sign language

Newly deaf; newly mute—other senses not yet adjusted to compensate

I am boorish—spitting crude assertions from published works onto awkward, stumbling prayer; muddling as though my vesture is sepulcher

—I’m glad to go down, to burrow deep allowing waters to close over;
not sure when the moon will change again and allow me up.

Oh sweet, dark, change--husky sheath and cosseted
Dry and cool, I do the work of life.

I am hidden, in my own mind, at least.
Protected by the confidence that things change—things always change