Summer Breaks

The summer breaks, and skies come down,
It’s more than we can understand,
No safety anywhere in town
As darkness falls across the land

Let ev’ry heart that is awake
Take heed: the summer’s born to break –
As we are, when the feelings come
That leave us overwhelmed
And numb


The moments may come fast or slow,
The day may panicked be, or zen:
Though we have near or far to go,
We cannot live the past again

There is a silence in the wood,
There is a stillness in the glen,
Though life go bad and hearts come good,
We cannot live the past again

We all would see the world be changed
As girls to women — boys to men —
Then find our heart from hope estranged,
We cannot live the past again

The tracks run far to unknown land,
The chance that comes we cannot ken —
Through all the lives of distance spanned
We cannot live the past again

The unused treadmill at the gym,
The ink gone dry within the pen,
The sun gone down, the eye gone dim,
We cannot live the past again

The grass beyond the railroad track,
The “one day” that demarks the “then” —
The way is forward, never back:
We cannot live the past again


The mess is obvious…

The mess is obvious,
as is the advanced age of the tools:
but, what we might miss here,
and what we often miss,
is that the act of sawing off or carving away
what is deleterious to the final product
creates chaos;

we then mistakenly see
the unintentional aftereffect
as the purpose of the whole activity.

But the purpose is the carving;
the sawdust is only
the inventible chaos that comes
with creation.


shells beneath the surface shine
in sharpened joy for summertime,
and colors dance before our eyes:
the shock of rainbow-edged surprise -

and you know love like lips on lips,
in water splashed with fingertips,
and sunlight searing through a soul
that's gained its way, but lost control

so live as though you full intend
to come, to go, to reach, to send --
and hear the water splash like bells
on freed up toes, and bits of shells