Shadows of Greats

I stand in the shadows of greats,

like Dickinson and Plath,

like Angelou and Oliver—

The Heart is a Muscle

The heart is a muscle,

and the nerves are electric.

Through this ongoing bustle,

the world skews geometric,

Finches

Finches

rest here

Corvids and Coins, Or Crow Box

I lure them to me

and ask them to give up

their glinting metallic trove–

a precious heirloom in exchange

for a pellet of food.

Greenhouse Blues

To shut out the world, the gardener ventures into the greenhouse

to work on the seed starts–

tomatoes and peppers

and all the things she can pretend she can control.

Til Tomorrow, Love

The coffee is steamy for once,

and the sun rises through a layer of gray fog

itself invisible but its light apparent.

A Nightly Stroll

After Robert Frost

Just where I am, I do not know.

My mind is full of storm clouds though;

I wish I did not fall asleep

and let the twilight nightmares flow.

The Mountain Can Too Sing

The mountain can too sing

Of what tomorrow brings;

It prophesies of sin and hope and fear.

What is Love?

On the edge of a cliff

I stand,

head bowed,

hands clasping

the wrought iron form

of my heart,

not wanting to drop it

but needing to let it fall.

Adrift

A sailboat adrift

far out

and not enough fuel for the motor

to ever power its way back to shore.

What I’m saying is you can call me unmoored.

Call me lost.

Call me unreachable

because when you call, I may not pick up the phone–

too far from civilization

for the towers to reach.

I’m busy trying to find a space to call my own.

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