Poetry

#7 This sound of children singing the sun up will shape every last Himalayan snowflake…

She rarely made us do it— we’d clear the table instead—so my sister and I…

Because one must be naked to get clean, my dad shrugs out of his pajama…

Come to my funeral dressed as you would for an autumn walk in the woods….

Let me not forget to notice all the seasons of the ocean with an awe-filled…

We are tattered bits of cloth looking for pattern in the dependable void. At dusk,…

This sound of children singing the sun up will shape every last Himalayan snowflake echo…

I brush away snow to watch the pulse of water beneath ice. We’re allowed to…

How to meet the grey turn of the forecast, the stutter of any new uncertainty….

Go gently today, don’t hurry or think about the next thing. Walk with the quiet…

The network of caverns inside my heart has enough rooms for in-laws and aging parents….

White-throated sparrows dart in and out of the hedgerow, their sweet long notes rising above…

And if it’s true we are alone, we are alone together, the way blades of…

Because they crowd the corner of every city street, because they are the color of…

I sent him from home hardly more than a child. Years later, he came back…

So many colors abandon the earth, and go skyward to the trees like origami birds,…

may there be a listening rather than a making curiosity over expectation, lightness and ease,…

Over the hills in the north, the lake comes into view—azure blue water. At first…

Dream-singers, Story-tellers, Dancers, Loud laughers in the hands of Fate—            My People. Dish-washers, Elevator-boys, Ladies’…

Now I understand that there are two melodies playing, one below the other, one easier…