Wednesday, April 5, 2017


at a distance                 at a distance
uncomprehendable       of six city blocks
in this silly                     is a person
human mind,                so decidedly
lies                                different
another sun                  from me
made of                        I cannot hope
the same stuff              to understand
as me                            them

Thursday, March 24, 2016

Don't Doubt the Science

Photons give
bound electrons
energy to jump
(and dance)
and lower resistance
allowing this switch
to switch
and so the streetlamp
clicks off
announcing the coming
of morning
no matter how gray

Wednesday, April 22, 2015

of Spring

I send fleeting, desperate thoughts
out through my morning window,
hoping to connect
with something beyond this cup of coffee
which warms my fingers,
but they cannot compete
against the hush of tires
on wet pavement
and instead
hidden deep
in the beautiful
of Spring.

Tuesday, April 29, 2014

What I think in the moment between breaths

I have spent my life
the hues in a gray sky
and the diameter of raindrops
as they fall.
I have stood, arms outstretched,
measuring the time it takes
to achieve maximum saturation.
I have used calipers
to measure the wrinkles
on my toes caused by standing
in puddles for days.
And I have wondered,
if each drop could carry
a small bit of me,
how long would it take
for a Spring shower
to carry me
to Summer.

Monday, April 28, 2014

What is this settled you speak of?

Sunshine runs barefoot
through my back yard,
dancing through the too long grass.
Bliss encapsulated
in the glass jar of a moment.
Though moments pass
and children age
life, seen from a distance,
moves like the Earth
through the cosmos--
always in a different spot
but, somehow, seen
as the same.

Wednesday, April 23, 2014

The super secret location of happiness

The morning Sun is playing with illusions.
Dappling my wall
with louvered windows,
disjointed as they fall
across my desk before breaking
onto the wall.

As a child
I would seek these projections,
angled and shifted,
on the floor
and lie down in their warmth
hoping to fall through
to a land
of light and happiness.

I find myself wondering
if all it took was time
to make it to the other side.
So I wave to the little boy
to let him know
we're here.
We made it.

Monday, April 21, 2014

The seven year old workout

Ignoring this idea
that I am an adult,
I obey my daughter's command
and follow:
Up the stairs,
hand over hand across the bars,
then up the rock wall
to the platform
where we slide back down
while static electricity
builds and releases.
Before I can comment,
we are off again,
repeating variations
on the pattern
until we collapse
on the ground,
face up,
taking in the simple wonder
of a cloudless spring sky.
And Time,
radiating like energy from a child,
and allows me to gape in wonder
at her magnificence
before winding her arms
and starting again.