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Lake Berryessa, 2013.jpg

Published in An Anthology of Pandemic Poems, Oregon Poetry Association 2021


It’s a silent

deep wave running

along the wires

hidden in the white noise

disguised as


a swarm of locusts

we hear but don’t see

the gathering of all that dust

all that darkness

all those moments

when we turned our heads

distracted our minds

refused to listen

and now we are here.

We look at each other

through windows

and nod as though

we know what’s going on

How are you?

Did you find the cause?

Lose the plug?

Can’t find the outlet?

The doctor can’t see me

and the path has

just turned.

I am sitting on a cold

hard bench

one step further away

from you

behind that mask

not trusting

just your eyes

lost in the division 

between a mother

and her child

the proud boys are

in our park

and the piercing light

from their semi-automatics

blinds me to

what I knew

between me

and you.


Published in SMALL FEATHER, 2020.

Available form Finishing Line Press.

Holding Your Cloud

There was a program

about memory

on the radio

something about it

took me away

into clouds

white puffy spaces

always about to become


always interrupted

by the breeze.

I found a seat


the view

from the vineyards

watching a memory

settle into the landscape

shuffling its feet

and laughing

like an elusive rope hanging

down the wall of a well

to the moment

of my grief

over you.


Turquoise, in SAMLL FEATHER

Deep, rich

turquoise blue

perches defiantly

on claret-red

impossible cliffs

vermillion flycatchers

sigh and preen

on either side

while the idiotic sound of

a musty ticking clock

creeps through the

old woman’s home.

Carol King’s Tapestry

sultry smoke

snaking heaven

emerald deep green

as old barnacled hands

reach once more

for the squid ink inkwell

and with an owl-like stare

at the delirious sky

she writes the

new moon

into her lonely

anemone-filled heart.

As she writes

a beetle nearby clicks


a narcissistic frog

chants a cosmic refrain

it learnt as a gypsy

in Madrid

her hands dance

past and beyond

the words


a madrigal circus of apricots

dressed as sirens

                                  in the distance

and her mind dances

away on a typhoon.

Sun deep carmine

falls into dusty

orange light

sweet cumin

smells dance

spilling upon

all the life

in that house

coming together

deep inside

the violet scented