stretched

the day pulls my mind
taut over its dull edges
until i've lost shape.

just blinking, not thinking

my head rests backwards
after the daily grind's spin:
mind pulled from center.

vital movement

the here and there stirs
this stagnant river, breathes life
where stillness once choked.

monday

jagged hours slide
rendering this rough-hewn day
into yesterday.

hues

subtle colors stand
out in this brown-hued landscape:
more important now.

lost in thought

my thoughts sprout sly legs
and race my mind round the world
with no GPS.

thankful

the sun rises now,
dawning constant since the first day:
God's bright beating heart.

the path unwalked

glimpsed from the paved road,
an opening in the trees
breathes hope into me.

night fog

hushed, pressing, draped low,
pre-dawn fog holds back the day,
does not part for me.

dream

tulip bulbs tucked in
dreaming in colors unseen
waiting to come true

window

through the window pane:
minute shifts build into change,
my reflection, too.

passing

the day writes in chalk--
marking, but impermanent,
washed away by time

tired

uncapped, my sleep spills
out from this fragile vessel
refill with coffee.

on high

the crane chorus sings
to a mysterious God.
my Thanks rides their wings.

to the autumn morning

the crusty edges
of morning's breath glisten
without winter's bite.

a chance of rain

the air, expectant,
groans under the water wait
of clouds over due,

make it

find the fine fissures
sewn loosely throughout the day
stuff them with your dreams.

autumn frost

edging grounded leaves,
the frost faeries' finger paint
dissolves in the light.

(John's) new dog

dog and her master
both curled fast around their sleep
picture of peaceful.

parts of a whole

trees in a forest
seen singly, seem so simple.
complex, connected.

time

the day leaks away,
a pond refilled by night's spring.
stop and soak sometimes.

in the soul's kitchen

I chopped this feeling
To freeze in single servings
For bland, tasteless days.

eau de bebe

how can i write down
your intoxicating smell
for when i'm eighty?

winter trees

branches rise, criscrossed
patterned black against bright sky.
distinct, without leaves.

joy finding

i shake out the day
like laundry too long rumpled.
joy hides in creases.

still

still -- i am summoned
to join the world in motion.
I am within -- still.

how deep

lake? or shallow pond?
only the fish swim that deep.
surfaces can't speak.

revealing light

sun, king of the sky
paints the day sharply golden
blinding clarity

linguistics of life

days are syllables
spoken singly make no sense
together form words

the long view

every instant holds
birthing, dying, laughter, cries.
endless existence.