To its nature

A coral bell hanging


amongst its neighbors,

a bear trundling along


a cricket sounding an evening concert


in the kitchen,

each, perfectly, to its nature.

Were the bear turning this way and that


how he looks in his bearness, his gait,

his hunger,

or the coral bell wishing mightily

it could be a lily,

or the cricket seizing upon the desire to stomp

like an elephant through jungle-

Where would we be?

Thankful to the trueness of things

may we seek only

our own magnificent, and fleeting, natures.


Facing sunrise

Memories are being given away,

space no longer for rent to the unwelcome.

A wooden chair with woven seat sits now

facing sunrise.

Closets have been emptied, drawers cleared out

and sold.

Neither vacancy nor void, but place has opened,

safe, dynamic, light and warm.

The river turns here

The river turns here,

around a mountain- one ancient, familiar, not to be forgotten.

From mature, back to youthful, thick water tumbles on

toward old age.

No guessing when, nor how, not even what awaits 

on the other side of the mountain,

but slowing into transition, touching each passing stone,

scoops up now drop by sweet drop,

the flavor of entry into great unknown.

To the fierce woman

To the fierce woman–
not the girl, whatever the age, trying to look pretty,
to be nice,
not the girl in the woman’s body aiming
to be desired, seductive, adored, heroic, cool, mysterious,
No, no-
To the fierce woman who knows the song of her own heart’s beat,
who cares not about how she appears, but about who she is,
who isn’t reaching for the next best outfit, witty comeback, title or
right answer–
To the fierce woman who walks how she walks,
talks how she talks,
ages as she brilliantly ages,
sees how she sees and
loves how she loves,
my God, Welcome.
Welcome to this world.