Snapshot: Cantina

You came you struggled and you built
Your tale unique your thoughts your own
Like those around you who you love
The years have crawled and winced and flown

Like everything that matters, yours
Is out of everbody’s way
Save those who strike out for themselves
Not waiting for the mass to say

But when you love the things you do
And do it with your family,
There is an honor you can’t buy
With money or with casuistry

The truth within an enchilada —
Better a little good,
Than a lotta



I often fear
That we have lost
The nexus of connectedness;
Where dealing in
Good faith come first,
Like listening and talking less —

Yet all around
The world we find
These enmities that never die,
For we can’t hear within
The echo chambers that
We occupy

And yes, it has
Been ever so:
To live and die within this mess
Not knowing how
We could break free
Using our shared


Reflections on Why

I embraced the darkness, only to find it
Reluctant to let go

I did not want to be safe, I wanted
To stay with the familiar, raging
That it was neither healthy nor safe

We often have one more choice available
Than we think we do:
The one where we leave the pattern

But habit is the relationship we
Are most invested in,
And I preferred the devil I knew to

The angels I didn’t

A Sensual Encounter

Just off camera, intertwined,
With every sense engaged at once
A wonderland, facility,
Assertion and docility
In one, the movement and the still —
The kiss the touch the mind the will —

But every bit surprising as
There was no setup, no idea:
But sometimes people move in time
And continents become pangaea,
Bursting out of their confines
And lives hemmed in between the lines
That someone set for them to keep —
But now, the shallow and the deep

Are felt and measured, measured, felt,
And that connection, without words,
From couch to carpet and to bed,
A rising chest, a falling head,
A time of presence, fully present,
Unremitting, unrepentant,
Distant sound of rolling thunder,
Wonder, magic,


{ anniversaries. }

to celebrate
what should have been a celebration all along —
to commemorate
the unforgettable —
this desire, this need
to remember what we are already experiencing
as it was from the beginning —

this is a very beautiful part
of the family of human rituals,
although not everything we pay tribute to
may be happy, in thought.

we exist in relation:
to each other,
to the world,
and to our past.
we must, at least occasionally,
even now,
try to occupy common ground,
despite the many voices
screaming at us daily
not to do so.

(in a world that insists
  that hate is not the answer,
  it sure is offered a lot)

it is only in our common humanity
that we have real lives,
and it is only in remembering
how we got here
that we even know
what ‘here’ is

Departed Welcomes

O stranger’s heart, that you should live in me.
How is it that I’ve landed in this place?
I was a child of hope and melody,
Who soldiered only kindnesses and grace,

And welcomed every shadow as a friend.
The kissing joke, the habits of a heart
Who knows no means, but treats each as an end —
But there are few of those back at the start.

I was sincere, I think, but life is weird:
I thought that love would stay with me like light;
I’d never felt the darkness, never feared
I’d let go when I should have held on tight.

    Those greetings gone, that lips still pantomime:
    I wish that I could say them one last time