Such Grand Things

There is a chair.

It is ugly. It is metal and black. With chipped paint. With harsh angles. With broken parts and with spindly legs.

And I, there, next to it.

Not really any less ugly but at least with less desire to be.


What a strange idea.

In the vast cosmos of planets and people that there should be such a thing as desire

That there should be such a thing as existence.

And I with my limited knowledge of such grand things as existence cannot help but believe one thing: That because the universe exists, it could not have not existed.

I know my life is not a thing I should take for granted.

But there is no other way to live.

The Ride


General! near to fall
Plunged toward open ground appalled
The blood, the wounds now mercifully tried,
Just one to run against the rules this time.
His right the higher ground, from paths
Where men and maples dark did pause
To bleed if he was not the hope theirs was
And pay for thinking soon enough.



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painting by Ralph Albert Blakelock (1874-1919)

I’m Here

Listen! and believe me.

Believe me when I say,

That I know what the birds say,

That I know what the trees say,

And I know what the winds say when they brush their soft, soft fingers against my cold cheeks

BUT            I do not know what I say

And when the trees, and the winds, and the birds speak across my mind,

I have nothing to say to the trees, and the winds, and birds.

So I               just listen,


Just me.

                Just empty.



White wings
Rush of feathers

I don’t turn to look behind me
I don’t see it here
Around me

A cloud
Darker than shadow
And heavier than storm air

I don’t comprehend it now
But I feel it sitting
On my chest

Surrounds me
On top of me – and in my arms

It is reaching for you
It is inside of you
Fight it off

All of us
Fight with it – fight so hard

And as we battle for you
It cannot hold you
Not now

And you
Are here with me
Right now, and for a while

But what I didn’t see then
What I can’t see now
I remember

Are funny things
Because when I look back

I see something I didn’t
I see white feathers
On wings

Brighter than darkness
Lighter than the heaviness

On top of me – and in my arms
I didn’t comprehend it then
But I know I felt it

Around me –
And holding you
I don’t have a story, to prove it

But I don’t have to because
We’re here together
Right now

And for a while
For, as I hold you I know you are held, too

By a rush of white feathers
And a silence
And wings

Our Angel


I wrote this a little while ago after watching my dog survive what I think was a seizure.

Photo by me

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New Dress

last night they got me a brand-new dress
all silk and green and ribbons
today I am draped in its cloth, my hair twisted and braided
I feel perfect; I want to fly
but I
I am a flightless bird
who hears but cannot speak a word
and pretty dresses, I know, were meant for more
than twirling and giggling across the floor
up late – at my first party –
but for what more
I cannot guess
tonight, at six years old



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