4am. eighth wonder

getting up at four in the morning to write, with a head full of dreams, is like traveling to the eighth wonder of the world, finding it closed, then climbing over the fence to get in.

fashion of caring

These days I see people in a sacred space who are tragically depressed, like they can hardly get themselves out of the house and make it to session. I see people who are in abusive relationships and sometimes with themselves. I see myself seeing people and I don’t know how to help. All the stuff they taught me not always on the ready. What ends up happening is I help create the sacred space in which I see them, and we meet there, and I invite them there again, and I’m not always making any money cuz I volunteer, too, so I may be tired and permanently jetlagged by my nightshift, and I’m sure they see me tired and tryin to pay close attention cuz I care, and hopefully, just hopefully, they will realize they are worth caring for and start to care for themselves a little more, too, but even if they don’t, well that’s okay, too.

the lucky kid

Softened life on quiet streets today. All the bad news backed into shells and shadows or sank into the mud for a second. I stuck mostly to my routine, after and before I spoke with my family over the phone. Now the past may be the past and the future, the future. But not today. This afternoon I spoke with my family. Then the morning became a golden dawn. Then an evening, alone. A holiday. Coulda been sad I coulda been sorry. Weighed against the afternoon’s words, I was given meaning and washed it through my hair. I smile cause I’ve been made who I am, again, the lucky kid.

a fullness (in an empty space)

thoughts
softened before
summer

feelings
flooded the
plains

a cottontail
explosion

everything’s
up in
the air

immediate
light and easy
accessible

hovering around
the head

nocturnes
pressed out
on a baby grande in
some cathedral
of light

i prayed
all the spinal
locks be released
all at once

pardoned on
yawning steps

the
forgotten
hidden
temple

made of
hillside

lifted
our spirits

chanting
the souls
into silence