WRITER

To read my short story The Inn, click here.

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To read a chapter from my novel Stargazer I, click here.

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POETRY SAMPLES​

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white moments 

(2021, rev. 2024)

 

The moon—

winks at me.

Smiles from heaven:

still, deep light

a pouring wash

 

on twiggy branches

reaching

in a wave toward

curving sky.

Streaking bolts

from earthen mouth,

loud and silent—

 

no ceasing their dance

till moments shine white

and curve Blue!

and heaven pours back 

into 

 

earth…

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Sleeves of God 

after Natalie Diaz

(2021)

 

We wear them on our hands,

and call them sleeves of god.

    We call them sleeves of god—

    we break things in our rage.

 

They break things in their rage

like children rash with toys.

    The toys break forever.

    They never play again.

 

We never play again—

they forget us with the toys.

    We forget them with the toys—

    just that easy, they believe.

 

They believe that we forget.

They call them sleeves of god.

    We remember, not forget.

    We wear them on our hands.

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Baggage Allowance on a [Foreign] Airline

(2021, rev. 2023)

 

My brain with its remoras of thought;

my cells with their absorbed toxins from the poor

skipjack tuna who became my

dinner.  Or maybe, if the foot bath

cleanses me enough, I’ll only have to say sayonara to the

tiny doughnuts that wander, translucent, across 

my vision.  

 

But then there is the food—I don’t know 

if heaven has cheddar, or Monterey jack.  I hope I won’t

be reincarnated as a cow.  I like dairy, but not that

much.  

 

Perhaps it’s silly to ask!  What

if this is all for naught?  For all I know, heav’n above

has every amenity.  I need only take a carry-on.

But how big is the plane?  Will my bag fit?  I looked

online, but can’t find any specs for 

Pearly Gates Air.  Whom might I ask?

 

Ah!  A cat! a cat might know.  They get nine

free trips on that plane.  Surely one of them

will remember!  But would she tell me or just eyeball

her trademark look, How-stupid-are-you?  

Cats have a way with words.

 

Assuming she said, though, what I should pack,

I’d have choices to make.

I don’t need a notebook, for thoughts fly free.

I’d leave the toxins, keep the cheese.  Maybe

I’ll lose my lactose allergy, like that tangle 

of faded receipts that finally escapes your purse

years later.  I’d like dairy more then.

 

But still only enough 

to consume it.

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click click

(2022, rev. 2024)

 

click click

computer brain

input data to hard drive

 

this hard drive is soft

prunes itself

 

it’s also slower

input data again again

again

One day it’ll stick

a cautious soft drive

 

you must speak time—

 

What counts?  What doesn’t?

 

A hard drive wouldn’t understand.

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In the Quiet

(2022)

 

Breeze hints

    Time sings

        Water purrs

            Heartbeat whispers

                Vision kindles

            Footstep echoes

        Starlight murmurs

    Tree summons

Breath replies

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Her House

(2022)

 

It is everywhere

    (stuff and stuff and stuff)

Open a drawer, any drawer

    (stuff and stuff and stuff)

Letters and photos stacked feet high

    (stuff and stuff and stuff)

The ones we sent her months ago

    (stuff and stuff and stuff)

 

Tiny mandolin behind a stack

    (dust and dust and dust)

Lift it, wipe its strings and pegs

    (dust and dust and dust)

Fine-grain wood, dark and smooth

    (dust and dust and dust)

No one knew it was there

    (dust and dust and dust)

 

Lamplight on three tired chairs

    (dusk and dusk and dusk)

Open the blinds, startle the house

    (dusk and dusk and dusk)

Slivers of sunlight forgotten on shelves

    (dusk and dusk and dusk)

Were it but lighter in here

    (dusk and dusk and dusk)

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Between muted walls in bed you lie

    (gray and gray and gray)

Entombed in ashes with your house

    (gray and gray and gray)

Emerald glow neglected—buried

    (black and black and black)

If only we could have dusted you

    (black and black and black)

 

If only we could have dusted you

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