Small Wonder



Up from under the window’s light

passing through the haze

– room dusking –

to graze your fingers,

there, for a moment, now, the future.


All these words, sitting there, ready to be used.

Called up out of the hiding space of your throat.

Called in to the narrow cleft of your ear.

Up and over the curlicue of your breath

out over the void you left behind.


Outside, there is no outside.

Action, thought, why we hover here

on the cusp of what is about to occur,

on the band between here and then.


And cry and cry for what is yet to happen.


Poetry, Uncategorized


For you, I iron my breath,

dust the flames from my shoes

grapple with my own fingers and their workings.

I go and finish sewing the apples back to the tree

blossoms to my lip

sprinkle flour on the floor of our kitchen

and dance,

dance until we all return.

For you I will tie down my tongue

loosen my eyes

avert my palms.

It will be my job to fade the tiredness in the sunlight,

my duty to bulb each lantern

and polish polish polish all those tears.

You must do your own breathing

wearing all my wrinkles down.


Tuesday’s Poem

Poetry, Uncategorized

After the rain,

grass crickets

sing how drops sit

in memory there

on the blades.

Antidote’s boredom

flash the sound like

strobe ventriloquist.

How small those hands

reaching from pooled water;

how tiny the fingers of the rain.

And a million little fruiting bodies

hats, umbrellas, houses

only need the gift of water

to own the earth.

Beading now, drying

what becomes of the

rivulets we followed all day?

Down to the lake

where they hold  – fingers twining –

a disco of frogs.