I can’t tell what bursts forth.

Is it me or the Universe coming to meet me?

The stillness in these Trees

Fluffface’s arrival every morning hoping to be fed.

The same expanse of sky offering new warmth.

The dance between work and desire

Hunger and what we long to be received.

All churning inside of me.

Bare hands in the Dirt

Cheeks brushing in the greeting of friends

Eating ice cream out of the container

staring out at the setting Sun

and the Dirt that will remain on my skin

All season long.

I listen to the words you say looking for something more…

Looking for an explanation for why I feel

When you are near.

Lingering after you’ve gone.

A meal needn’t be understood

Only experienced

Like this Desert experiences the Sky

The Great Expanse itself experiences the Trees

We watch the Rain though it hasn’t arrived yet

Murmuring the hymnals of the Sea.


I want to be something ordinary…

Like dirt

To watch the storms move in

Gray skies and wind

The worm beneath my fingertips

The butterfly; wing clipped by the weed whacker.

I may never think that I am enough…

Or realize that I don’t have to be.

I may never say the right thing or know the proper way to act..

And it simply doesn’t matter.

I will continue to risk for intimacy

For the sparks of human connection

Within the immanence of death.

Experiencing the only thing that can be taken away.

I read the news….

All I want to do is put my hands

in the dirt.

Like the Priestess the Farmer or the Shaman

I see time

stretched in every direction

All those who call this place home…..

Scrambling … searching….. seeing power as commodity

Migrants off shore


Panic and fear

Tornado stirs near my heart

I listen to the stories

Observe the feeling

Travel to my fingertips.

Sometimes it seems like one moment of Love

Makes this life worth living….




Tumble from shore to sea


Back again.



Tornado inside

Not asking why

Raise tolerance for living.

Eat what my mamma gave me.


Move on…

Lead me
stark trees.
to blossoms;
It’s spring.

Accomplishment is often defined as
“Social art or skill”
Retreat as
“A period of retirement or seclusion,especially one devoted to religious contemplation away from the pressures of ordinary life”
What is ordinary life?
No retreat from self.
“Being in harmony or accord”

Retreat from intimacy to something unknown.
Like trust……..
Last years harvest remains…

I guess one piece can feel whole.
before it knows it is only a part of…

Is there a difference between
fabric and nature?
If there is these differences currently allude me.
As the very fabric of my nature is stretched
across rib and bone.
Finding silence and rocks torn from memory
I run but come back
Eat and forgive myself.
Look closely and don’t answer the phone.
Who’s healing am I aiding in?
I lay you to rest
all of you
the garden is nourished with the seed of your bones
I will tend daily
letting something Greater
what harvest will come.