If you lean too hard, you’ll go tumbling out of shadows, into the lake. Look, like how the leaves strain against their cuffs in the wind, leaning into the goldenrod breeze. Look at the lovers lean into each other, racing against sundown, lips brushing freckles, freckles brushing blades tickling toes. There is no time for thinking […]
Soon comes spring; and children will sigh in the rhododendron light. Forty days, the land groaned under the burden of frost and dust. I think to myself that were we to drink the ashen calendar days, we could not bear the surprise of heart-sick laughter, the lightness best experienced with others; a choked-up kind of […]
Blaise Pascal, one evening, recorded a spiritual experience he had. It affected him so much that he sewed it into the lining of his coat until his death. He titled it The Memorial: L’an de grâce 1654, Lundi, 23 novembre, jour de saint Clément, pape et martyr, et autres au martyrologe. Veille de saint Chrysogone, martyr, […]
I found myself drawn to grids mostly because they were manageable. You can write your way out of one as soon as easily as you write your way in. Grids are safe, incubators for words and ideas to sit, like plastic-wrapped photo frames, or little cardboard boxes filled with styrofoam peanuts, keeping the hallowed words […]
Autumn is blazing in San Francisco; its fiery oaks defy the growing chill. I am biking the Wiggle, the well-known route from Market St to Golden Gate Park that all cyclists here know. It is the kind of route that is knowingly passed down from generation to generation by oral tradition; the route is now […]
Inspired from Genesis 28:16.
There is nothing ahead but firelight, sweet chamomile tea, four ounces of froth and eraser dust. Suddenly, we too are children; we too are poppyleaf flowers riding rogue gusts of unbridled wind. The solace you seek lies one octave above, above the cloud cover, above the sorrow and heavy matters of dirt, scandal and earth. […]
Six AM sun still slow bite the chill of morning air and a window left ajar sirens and city noise are your serenade as you stretch and shake off cobwebs of yesterday. Seven. –8/28/2004
