The Rustle of Winter is the Seed of Spring

The seasons in the Eastern Woodlands are like one long breath in the body: It starts in the still nothing of winter’s empty sleep. Deep in the roots, the pelvic floor, where life begins. It grows through the sacral Spring into a teeming river, abounding waters, observed by regal Cormorants, resting on river rocks with their vampire beaks uplifted. Singing green and yellow branches, brave … Continue reading The Rustle of Winter is the Seed of Spring

Reach

Reach A baby girl was born on an airplaneas her parents fled Afghanistanwhile in their jet stream wakethe Taliban took powerovernight. A tiny quaking bright hope of all feminine power Both passed and living now.Ten fingers, ten toes. They named the baby Reach after the airplane,as if she was reaching across the seafor her lifeas the world below heardher first cries. I was heavy with … Continue reading Reach

Winged and Unwavering

The mud dauber wasps are dependable puttering angels circling in busy patterns black incandescent iridescent tiny airplanes floating on drafts of sunny kitchen ceiling skies. They are inherently part of the hot yawn of summer and the solitary penetrable old farmhouse at the bay. They are the only thing moving in the space between still moments. Dark flecks against luminous white walls, anchoring us in … Continue reading Winged and Unwavering

Love in the Time of Coronavirus and Climate Change

Love in the Time of Coronavirus and Climate Change   ->>–=-=——–>   Cupid’s arrow rode in on an acorn whistle last New Year’s Day. Your eyes shined as the shrill cry echoed brightly through the ages.   In a high sky above hawks watched as it bounced off canyon walls and splashed down waterfalls then slipped deep between two left ribs into my unknown territory, … Continue reading Love in the Time of Coronavirus and Climate Change

Kuk-ook in the Kitchen Doorway

Kuk-ook in the Kitchen Doorway Standing framed at this old kitchen door I watch through the screen as another tropical Virginia rain washes away the sins and violence of a restless sleep. Standing framed at this old kitchen door in morning light, bare feet on dirty linoleum, little cat in my arms, his little nose in the wild wind. Ghosts of past loves whip past … Continue reading Kuk-ook in the Kitchen Doorway