Maybe it was – seems long ago – I danced on a flickering flame so my feet would burn if I stood my ground and another tongue, insistent, called my name I'd lean into tomorrow as though I were bound to the wind Where does an echo lead? I heard a sound, I turned; again; the globe as it spun …
First I believed in magic, and then I didn’t, but that was only because I had learned – or been taught – the wrong definition. You see, when the faeries existed, back then, when the spirits existed, they really did exist. When a quarter appeared under my pillow (or was it a dime? or was it a …
Spring has arrived with its signature flourish. I enjoy the recognition. It began years ago with delight The snow's crust hardened then softened, then became lace through which the roadside stream could be seen, happily (did my happiness make that water happy?) spilling and tumbling downhill past our home. A small stick in a small hand makes the hole …
Somewhere among the trials of innocence, lessons of winning and losing. And then: that young mind, that open heart, has almost no distance to travel, from saying "I won" to "I'm right", and… ah! Then my dear hearts, dear children, you have lost your sight, your liberty of movement, and each step forward will be …
There are two kinds of roads. I see the first so clearly: I can allow my eyes to drop from the horizon for a moment, and there are my feet, one before the other, one after the other, while the world slips away underneath a pace at a time. That’s about two yards, if I …
The illusion of independence begins with the snip of the umbilical, is furthered with a slap, is fulfilled as we are weaned, walk, and then withdraw to our own beds; we lean into our own efforts, rise to our own challenges, inflate with what we perceive to be our personal successes, deflate before our personal defeats. We desire a fruit, …
Here’s the canvas of the heart: streaked with tears, warm rain that melts before it reaches skin, the ice it was contained within undone by sun.
the eyes are a chamber of the heart and the lips and tongue, a chamber of the heart the fingertips and skin are a chamber of the heart the sense of smell is a chamber of the heart and the ears are a chamber of the heart so near enough to see you to taste …
we decorate our lives: with loves contrived of scent and sweat and secrecy and grateful dancing, toward and away; the rocking cradle of the heart beats and buoys the body’s arc that ripens, rises, tires and moves on its flower opens and opens when the water pulsing through its vein urges the petals wide to …
And every lover brings as his or her gift another reflection of the quality or your loving, and the quantity of your love. Sometimes the arc of a love is as long as years, sometimes a lifetime. Or the music of a relationship may last some months, crescendo, soften, then complete: the dancers bow to one another, and leave the …
The beauty of travel is how you walked, not where you walked.
When you bring a guitar into tune, there is a sound beneath the sound that rises as each string begins to play its neighbor; as the combined harmonics of low and high notes begin to ring together and sustain each other; until the joined voices have filled the body of the instrument, and the whole is in vibration, in …