Tuesday, June 21, 2016


There I am across the street
In my yellow raincoat, 
the hooded rain hat, 
the rubber boots clanking.
 Scuffle, scuffle. 

She will read to us. 
The Black Stallion. 
I am on a cushion
made by my Dad. 
I am dreaming as
She reads. Isn't that
what listening is?

The boy is at the center
of my mind. All day
and into the night. 
In the middle of the
night I wake up. 
There is no room
for anything beside 
the horse. Everything
is the Black. 

In the morning 
I remember Her voice. 
She is reading. 
I am listening...
I am in love. 

Monday, June 13, 2016


I tagged the little ant as he scurried around on my car. I was parked in a city lot.
I realized I had carried the ant far from home.  Instinctively I brushed him to the
asphalt vaguely thinking it would be safer. As he danced about I began to imagine
what he might be up to. A re-orientation of sorts? I imposed an idea of destination,
wondering if the ant's idea of home included a non-local sensibility. What we did share
was an almost incomprehensible sense of each other.  But out of this musing emerged
another: that the ant's situation is mine as well.  The Great Movement is afoot everywhere.
The bigger vehicle carrying me is vast and essentially unknowable. Yet I dance, adjust
the dials, ever attenuating a desire to go home. Later, in my driveway, I daydreamed about
a tiny technology that would allow me to monitor the ant's movements. Would he adapt, resettle, carry a bodily habit that informed his journey?  Or would a mysterious directive carry him toward home. I stood there looking east toward downtown.