What kind of courage do we need? We must accept reality in all its immensity…the only kind of courage that is required of us: the courage to meet the strangest, most awesome and most inexplicable of phenomena.~~Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet

The Courage We Need is

to stand alone
on the dance floor.

The courage we need is
to stay steady

as we feel the foundation cracking

to see clearly
through lies
thick as heavy blankets
as the sleepers
pretend wakefulness.

The courage we need is
to refuse
the safety
of the trance.

The courage we need is
to love with a broken heart,
shed fears like leaves,
bend, bow
and continue.


Nobody was ever drunk on Easter

The morning too early and bright


not dread.

My parents, instead of hiding 

their drinking in the garage,

  as we kids played, 
  yet certain of the carnage to come,

took us to the woods on Easter

to teach us about resurrection

they could not imagine for themselves,


to gather moss

to become the bed 

for our Easter eggs.

At home we wrapped the eggs

in leaves, old coffee grounds

used for their brown color,

leaves from the forest

for patterns,

strips of colored cloth as dye

all bound in burlap, tied with string,

boiled, then unwrapped, 

eggs as earth-colored spheres

like gray stones, like brown shades of bark,

streaks of orange, blue, red

like a dawning sun,

the river in the forest,

a cardinal’s feather.

Before the coloring of the eggs,

in the woods,

we lifted muddy damp moss

with care

from the forest floor 

covered with the moldy dead leaves

that mulch life,

and strangely,

carry a fertile scent

of sweet loam

floating in the air, the promise, 

a resurrection guaranteed only

by a fallen tree 

on its trunk sprouting a cacophony of mushrooms,

the detritus of a tuft of fur

all turning, sinking into soil

then tender violets rise beneath the tree trunk,

later a bud on a branch of a sapling.

For Greta

“But you, too young to say
You make it possible again and again…”
~~lyrics from the song Rise Up by Roy Zimmerman, after the Parkland shootings

Only the old believe in death
fooled by their changing bodies,
unchanging minds
struggling to hold back time.
Looking back so much

eyes lose sight
of what is ahead.

I am old now
but live

with wonder at my place in:
the circular centers of flowers,
sacred geometry of shells,
endless Fibonacci forms
full roundness
of the moving earth
rolling and
rolling and returning.

I stand
on the edge
of uncertainty,
arms open
mind open
to every

“Let everything happen to you. Beauty and terror. Just keep going. No feeling is final.”

~~~ Rainer Maria Rilke

The middle of the night
he returns
to leave you again
as he did long ago.

Let it happen
let it happen again.
Rilke is right
you know

against reason.

But first you fight
fate, karma
and bad luck
all the

you turn your face into the pillow
from blows
the subconscious lands

at last,
like a boxer on the bloody floor,
you resort
to prayer
into the pillow.

sleep returns only
upon surrender
as illusions depart,
and childhood longings,
do the same.

It is morning.

ten billion years

The night
gathers our wishes
sent wistful
to shine as billions of hopes
in the black sky,
forming paths of light
from our longings.

What set stars ablaze
set us afire as well,
born, as we were,
in nebula nurseries.

Mother/father stars
draw upward our gaze,
we children
of planets grown full and massive,
dying yet deathless gaseous energy
we were released, transformed.
We have long forgotten
the super nova of numberless explosions,
how we floated on helium
to earth,
settling as electrified dust sparking, fiery
illuminating hope.

Bullied: A History

I held the dog in my lap
the golden pit bull-spaniel mix.
Of course, you know dogs,
so I was held also.

I had gentled the dog
the dog had gentled me.

He looked at us
“This dog has never known cruelty,”
he said, shocked
to see a myth come to life,
a dream become reality.

He and I,
strangers to safety,
were like Martians just arrived
to a new planet,
uncertain of its terrain,
familiar only with threat.

He returned to bully
and I returned as victim.

qarrtsiluni ~~Inuit for “sitting together in the dark”

While the blue northern ice
melts into the sea
We sit in the dark together alongside Polar bear.
on the tundra’s newly blackened soil.

The Inuit have seventy-four words for sea ice.
We name what we see
to navigate
and so
we are collecting new words
for tears
and ignorance.

Sitting still
we gather
in the dark
seeking new ways
to navigate these rising waters.
The old word we cannot lose
is most treasured,
we must keep saying to each other: