I unfold/ the train car,/ the bar,/ review each crease./ Their origami/ a reverse map/ to that first intention.

I walk among cottonwoods./ They stand in prayer silence,/ their bare branches raised/ toward constellated

Entangled thoughts clash/ in the darkened room/ should do, could do, must do, might./ Explosion of energy

The curving road/ Winds down/ Through jagged rocks/ To the harbour/ And the bright

When all turns black/ I go out cloaked with midnight./ When all turns bright/ I build a cathedral beyond

While the time I was young/ I imagined money grew like fruits of the udara tree,/ Plucked with little or no

In spite of my own flaws I know/ Beginnings only start to bring/ The best of seeds to sew.

A million brilliant ideas/ flicker overhead/ just out of reach// some blaze brightly/ before collapsing

Ruffle the fallen leaves that want to rise./ Open the window of the sky to allow/ The brimming light.

Winter weaves its charms in a sprightly dance of jaunty/ flakes  in the grip of fickle gusts that touch and

But when the snows fell/ The window fogged/ Waiting for a moment to presume/ To presume and to resume

holding forth with open arms/ longing unreturned// like a quiet strangeness/ cast in the shadows of

Sixty years Nana's clipped nails/ pressed precise folds,/ aligned flightless wings –/ onion skin

Many spurt out/ Try to win the world/ Arrow down the center/ Somehow always missing it.

Whenever I see you walking beneath the trees, I/ recall the year we planted the orchard, imagining the

If time could sleep for an hour,/ Perhaps the world would experience some peace./ If time could rest for

In a quieter universe, time is made up/ conversations with unamputated/ trees, itinerant rain

We’ll wade in Lake Mead’s mouth// a mortal-made pit of restless water/ & talk about faces forming

My grandmother’s eyes were a Christmas tree./ I look for her in the forest each year,/ pleading with the

They show me a ghastly mirror./ A dwindling reflection/ From a distant day ahead,/ When I am rendered