happened. She leaned over, in

shock, and said, you died. I fell

from the couch. We all called

each other, staring into the phone,

thinking of Pat and how she found

you. I woke early today, hardly slept.

I just walked Mira under the moon,

wondering if you’re already part

of its light. I went to one knee to

smell the earth and rub Mira’s

chest and thought of your dogs

sniffing for you.

Forged

FORGED

When the pain closed its fist,

I became a silent scream. When

the needle entered, I parted like

water. When the moonlight said

it was over, I relaxed into sea

grass, bending to its whisper.

Then the voice inside changed

languages and I became unknown,

faceless as a stone, relieved to be

smoothed. When you picked me

up, I became a dove, everything

aflutter. To be human is to resist

and become everything we meet.

It

IT

First It was a woman with auburn hair

whose head would moan when I’d kiss her neck.

Then It was a game where despite the others

I would rise in the air and toss the ball

as if it were all that mattered of me

and I’d only feel complete when it

slipped the net, touching nothing,

just falling blissfully from the sky.

Then It was a solitude that overwhelmed

me, on a mountain, or lingering by a brook

longer than the others. Or talking for hours

till the words were strewn like clothes and

there was nothing to repeat. And then It was

Grandma wearing down to a precious set of bones

and I made pilgrimage to hear her secrets once

she could no longer speak. And when you went

into surgery, I fogged the sliding doors,

watching your stretcher grow smaller,

believing It was thinning there

between us. But now, I am rightfully

tired of the chase and It has changed,

as have I, from something outside of us

we reach for, to something that was deep

within all along. I’ve stopped asking

for things to emulate, have stopped pushing.

Some say I am getting old. Even so, I can’t

find the words in stream or sky to make clear

what I’ve found. Just stay near long enough

and my eyes will tell and we will both

let down, unsure what to do next. This

is a sign. For It is here, in us as we

bend. Oh how this life unfolds, just

one concentric womb en route to another,

each encompassing the last; the labor

before us, our tunnel to the future;

the film covering our eyes, torn

away slowly, as we form inwardly,

no longer able to pretend.

Surviving Has Made Me Crazy

SURVIVING HAS MADE ME CRAZY

I eat flowers now and birds follow me.

I open myself like an inlet

and dolphin-like energies

swim on through.

Wherever I go, I remain silent

and the silence begins to glow

till one eye in the light