i think we’ve
seen this before
haven’t we
looking for shadows
instead of flesh
trying to hear murmurs
rather than words
i have tasted
the salt of skin
and heard the
echo of whispers
but neither
have a pull anymore
though the emptiness
jabs with such
bittersweet needles
my solitude presses slowly
the emptiness of time
to which i have
grown so accustom




a wind moved through me
the season has been changing
i’ve seen it in the sun
and felt it in the air too
i went to look
at the full moon
the other night
they call it a corn moon
it arrives during harvest time
the algonquin tribes
called it that
or so i’m told
that’s when the cool wind stirred
and moved through me
like a breath
a sort of whisper
fleeting
and i said aloud
to no one
i am just endless husk
no harvest hands need come
to take me



i can’t imagine
we’ll ever find our way back again.
alas, such is departing.
one leaves and might as well
bid farewell to all the known. 
two people, maybe lovers,
or friends,
or family,
will alway seek a return. 
one will say, when arriving,
when at the place that they
thought they remembered,
the place they thought
they left,
‘yes, i’m here.’
and the other
will arrive elsewhere, somewhere,
and say,
‘yes, i’m here.’
that is it.
we arrive again to some place,
any place,
real or just a state of being,
and think it is what we left.
some feel the unease right away. 
they are aware that ‘here’ isn’t ‘here’
and discontent and longing sets-in
like a sickness.
others lead entire lives
only to wake one day and come to 
terms with it,
the knowledge that
the here that isn’t here.
i can’t decide which is worse;
the instant awareness 
or the slow creeping realization.

i don’t go to church anymore
but that’s not what
this is about
i won’t write about religion
i won’t write about
how it tore me
apart inside
or a god that
supposedly judged me
for everything
everything
no i don’t want to write
about that
i was invited to go
to church
a family friend asked
me to take her
so i did
i stood like a statue
not bitterly
not angrily
just waiting til it was over
i always found the rhythm
of a church service interesting
sitting
standing
sitting
standing
this is what i was thinking about
when an elderly couple
in front me rose for the
100th time
the woman assisted her friend
to his feet
he stood with great difficulty
slowly rising
his body curling upwards
bone by bone
maybe it was her lover
or friend
it doesn’t really matter
the gesture was so beautiful
and kind
so giving
so completely selfless
i thought
as i also rose for the 100th time
this is why i came today
to see this
it had nothing to do with god
nothing to do with
religion
it was its own religion
its own faith
within that simple gesture
was god

spring came. 
each year i wait for it,
i want it,
i am thirsty for it.
then it appears like a magic trick.
that’s how it is, right?
grey skies,
brown leaves,
dead grass.
then green –
a green – so green – so green
it’s fake.
that’s how it is, right?
we forget in the same way.
a memory with talons so deep –
so deep – so deep
it can’t be real,
then they’re gone.

i no longer horde
the berries from my youth
those i would once gather
in the springtime
to savor
in the coming months
and coming years
i now enjoy them
in the moment
sitting in the berry patches
under the gentle strength
of the spring sun

then you arrive
standing there wondering
why you are in such a place
thinking;
‘why am i here?’
you take the words
you’ve been saying
the words from a language
you no longer speak
and retch them onto the earth
then step aside
and leave them there in the past

you held my hand
and gently placed your other
on my chest

respirer
you kept saying
ça va, shhh, respirer
it’s ok, shhh, breathe


when i have a seizure
i want to hide
like some animal
seeking shelter
returning to my cave
remaining hidden
until the storm passes
but you found me
you came into my cave
and found me there
in that place of fear
and vulnerability

i can only imagine
your thoughts upon
finding me
my eyes wild
full of fear
howling uncontrollably

respirer
breathe

you kept saying

with your hand upon my chest
i heard those words
echoing somewhere
in my mind
in my dwelling
in the place i run to
when seeking safety

respirer
breathe


then i returned
the storm passed

shh, ça va maintenant
shh, it’s ok now


after a seizure
the world is silent
my body is fragile
as is my heart
you knew this
without words
you understood
you kept your hand
upon my chest
and let it rise and fall
with each breath i took

shh, ça va maintenant
respirer

i walk the road leading into the field.
it is lined with
a row of now leaf barren trees,
a groomed wind-block
on the southern side.
in the north
an empty field,
the harvest was taken
some months ago.
i do not know
what grew there.
what was sown and
harvested were never questions
i asked.
now,
the field is lined
with tractor marks
that have collected rain water.
in the last light of the day
the frozen pools appear as glass,
as if the sky broke
and shattered downward.
i stand silently and observe
the last of the daylight
which is caught momentarily in the
frozen surfaces.
i watch the day as it
moves with haste
and witness the approaching night
that seems too eager
to arrive.
i wonder how this field
will be
in a few months;
when the snow and rains have stopped
and the earth dries.
when the seeds are spread
and the deer mark their
crossing path once more.
how will it be
when the wind-block
refills its branches
with a green
only nature can perfect?
how will time move
then?
how will its passage appear
here in a way that mirrors
nature, but also seems displaced
and removed slightly
so that symmetry will
never truly work in this place?
what creature will
look on?
a human, no doubt;
awkward and beautiful,
equal parts fear and love.
standing as one does
when in awe, when perplexed,
when confronted
by the subtle shifts
in the natural world
that we recognize within ourselves.