For a year I did nothing but collect –/ beech pods, pine cones, maple wings, ash keys,/ prickly burrs, husked

When they enter the studio,/ the dancers drop their bags/ by the wall mirrors// so as they stretch it looks

If God with one breath/ molded me out of rib and clay/ into a mother among the gladioli,/ though a paler

on friday evenings,/ we toss away our salads, do away with our chores, take days off the gym, and run away./ we

the denim legs of a novice hunter/ the cloudless sky, godlike, almost a future/ green, in thickets,/ the air foggy

The soundless sky/ speaks loudest;/ the silent moon/ meanders over marsh/ and into sky./ Helen hears in violet

The summer lilac has been called/ a noxious weed a hundred years;/ and this one in the garden section

The morning light/ sweeps particles of shadow/ over neglected corners// Outside my window, gathering

the magic of poetry, the metaphor/ of its language , either familiarises/ the unfamiliar or makes the familiar

I finish surrendering,/ and I am asked to surrender more.// I drink black coffee.// The beadwork has worn from

broad bands of lightning shudder/ across the midnight/ thunder grumbles from the north/ & again a

My wilting hands are weaving/ invisible threads into the fabric/ of cherished, nostalgic patches/ gathering

i can’t stay in my/ own skin  can’t stay/ bugs crawling in my veins itch them/ away i don’t want/ to exist  i can

Vincent can you hear me/ can you lend me an ear/ beneath the starry starry night/ wheat fields/ sown & reaped

Reflections on a lake,/ the water so still, as/ though frozen in time./ Gives an illusion of a/ painting masterpiece.

when i was born i must have/ swallowed the stars in my mother's womb/ and never gave them back.

Shouldn’t I have known,/ Reaching moonwards,/ Weak in the knees,/ Heart in free-fall,/ That it would come

I’ve got this lightning/ caught/ in a bottle,/ but what I supposed to do with it?// In a bottle,/ this little bolt 

does it feel like summer where you are?/ if i had the strength to believe in something/ i would believe in this

Splendid morning/ Cracking survival/ Faces turn toward wind/ Twisted, gnarled, vital. A beige faced kit