waking in a
different world
perhaps a
different being
this is how it feels
each day either
a thunderstorm
or golden sunlight

peonies II.

the petals fall in the rain
just gentle drops
too fragile a flower
rain falls
the earth collects more

peonies I.

even gentle rain
will knock
the peonies to
the ground
for a few hours
we will admire
the color
of the petals
they look so
beautiful there upon
the earth
covered in rain drops
but then the
water will pull
them closer to
the earth
loving them
with an embrace
too hard
holding them too
then they are

as a child i mirrored
your gestures
what do I call you

i struggled to find
a word i didn’t
yet know

a word beyond
the mind of a child
a foreign concept

as a man i still
what do i call you

there are no gestures
i don’t understand
such is age

this is a shadow
this too
is a life

these are fragments of life;
i am not sure any of it makes sense
but somehow these pieces fit.

and what of it?

how do we connect the dots –
all of this
all of it!

we can call it life,
but how do we embrace these pieces
and make them whole?

And what of it?
what of all of this?



the crickets are back.
just a few, now
a few early ones
perhaps welcoming 
the others. 
i am 35 
and i wonder if i have 
ever appreciated 
them so much. 
i awoke midday
to a gust of wind 
that blew my door
wide open.
an angry wind,
came in charging,
boisterous as wind is.
then, a calm 
just leaves rustling 
in a distant tree
and the song of a
lone cricket.
an angry gust 
that startled me awake,
i sat straight up
and forced a gasp.
a song i heard once
some years ago.
a song 
after the bitter wind
had left.