young woman clutch to what's left.
a 1000 years of dreams and charted paths.
grandmothers think old thoughts till they become new again.


two nights and one queen
the clock keeps ticking.

the alley.
the infamous through way.
the trees are finding their place again.
apricot, blackberry, cherry, and persimmon.

"love, with little hands, comes and touches you, with a thousand memories, and asks you beautiful, unanswerable questions." - carl sandburg

it's an uncommon ritual
sunday

the farmers wake and instead of starched pressed whites
it's soul worn shoes.
sleep is stubborn at shoeing off

it's amazingly quiet
there's a sense of reverence.
there's a sense of acknowledgment and dependence.
exhausted hands have had no time forget
the hours and hours of labor
this is as close as i come to my food source

it's beautiful
it makes me stop
the sun is just coming up over the hill
old women coo babies back asleep

you can s... read more

mean streets

his piercing eyes find meaning in all that's lost and swept away
a city that was never loved
empty buildings
and churches and schools
the story's over
the candle blown out
time has not been gentle

old bars line the street
a budweiser sign half blinks
the snow is thick
we watch as the man at the bar consoles a warm beer
and regrets the lose of innocense

he's raw
old and alive
and holds the beauty in his weathered hand

creative minds shine like a breath ... read more

in search of familiar places
and forgotten stories

i crave to know ritual
like breaking bread or burying the dead
i press my face against cold glass to see if i might taste the moon
it's been awhile
and she's dancing to far away

to watch both the sunrise and sunset in one day is invigorating
persimmons dot the naked tree in their sweet orange way
farmers put their fields to bed and nurse swollen hands
tenderly
the season shifts again
but you can lie in my arms till spring
an... read more