Wednesday, June 22, 2016


a surprise, even now.

a new land, unpredicted by mapmakers
who must now stay up late tracing its contours onto their pages.

the new continent obscures the legends
printed in the map margins, its tentative outline
(its location, so far, only guessed at)
overlaying drawings of dragons
and the edges of the world.

Tuesday, May 17, 2016


It took some doing, what with the dog barking,
the children clamoring, the coffee poured,
(spilled, cursed, re-poured)
the cars jostling, the office jangling,
the lunch anticipated then almost unnoticed,
the office again, the cars again,
the dog again,
the children,
the dog.

But I managed to set this aside for you:
a moment, a few thoughts, a wish.

Like a savings account, these small deposits
grow slowly at first, then quickly, aided
by the arcane forces of accounting, aided by time.

Wednesday, May 11, 2016


In the end,
there was no ending, no well-arranged resolution, no way to judge success or failure, or reason to.

No victory or defeat, nothing finished or begun.

No direction or need to track forward progress.

In the end there was no path under our feet, just our steps in a wilderness of small white flowers lit by the moon.

Tuesday, September 22, 2015


of all people, you were the one who taught me waiting

and after waiting, then to appreciate the state of waiting for itself, without impatience

and after patience, then to slowly, gently forget what is being waited for

and after forgetting, then to understand that nothing was ever lacking, that all was complete and whole from the start

and after wholeness, then to find pleasure in the exact shape of history, the precise unfolding of events without which today would not even exist

and after pleasure, gratitude

and after gratitude, love

Tuesday, January 27, 2015


i am in receipt
as i am, every so often
(though less often than i used to be)
of an inquiry.

or rather, a notice
pinned up on the entrance
to a sector of myself
newly constructed, or maybe just
newly mapped, sitting vacant all these years
informing me that the premises
are now ready to be inhabited.

or rather, an invitation
to a housewarming party
at a home i had admired from the street almost every day
but didn't know was mine.

Monday, July 8, 2013

sans luggage

you travel light
i know

but all i have came to me through someone else
and there must have been something here
that was meant to pass to you.

you are so wary of taking on weight
and gifts can be heavy
but mine would have been as light as the blessing
you left on my pillow, and as free
and probably longer-lived.

i know you know that belongings are transient
the very stuff of our bodies borrowed
like our time, borrowed against Death
and our love, on loan from God (surely its true owner).
i would not have begrudged you mine
not as a contract
as a talisman

but i know
you travel light.

Wednesday, May 22, 2013

moving day

how quickly you have become my home
how soon i have learned your scent
like a child or an abandoned puppy.

and how quickly i have begun to construct
a shelter around you
a shelter of you.

how often already i have wished
for a stronger arm, a stronger soul
to bring to bear on those stubborn pains
which i hope you are ready to leave behind
because they are taking up space in the rooms
of my new home, and i am a great thrower-away
of things no longer needed.