she walks with flower

blossoms in her hair.


the wind put them there.


she follows a long line of

seeds trying to be trees.


she talks to the dogwood

opening its thousand little


mouths in front of her

house. she finally under-


stands what some one is


saying: look at me, talk to me, stop

what you are doing and see me;


go out of your way to go out of your

yard; there are more of us out there—


diverse kin across africa, iceland,

the rainforest, grand canyon.


dive in: nurture us, make room for us,

build your homes around us, and


we will do the same for you.


i want

i want to put a big thick

hard cover in your hands.


i want the sands to stop

running; i want to feel them


pausing between my toes,

breathing, sweating. i want to


stop running from what i love.

i want to reach down and pick up


a star-fish in mid-regeneration

and say: this. this is important.


i want this world to break wide open

and finally find the love-chest bursting


deep down inside. i want to stop hurrying,

i want my girl to stop worrying, i want our


time here to mean something, to feel our hands

and feet move like colors in the sky, to know


our own voice again, who we were long before

birth, long before the birth-right shoved in.


i want to feel the hot rolling waves of desire

and malaise coming off the night. i want, i want


to follow that buzzing song straight through

my skin into my heart-grave and beyond.



equinox girl

the dogwood never bloomed last year.

the weather was perfect—the kind you

can barely feel against your skin without


a wind; the type of temperate that makes you

lose a sense of where you end and it begins.

but the tree went straight to leaf; it chose to not


proudly flower its little cotton crowns that soften

and peel off and land soundlessly in your lap.

it was what she first saw; it was what drew her


to this house. and now, almost two years later,

she is waiting again to see if it will bloom;

she is waiting again to see what will be.

train of thought

i am more than these lists running in my head; i am more than this space ship of a body; i am more than a paycheck at the end of the week; i am more than a heavy heart; i am more than a birthing machine; i am more than the maker of chocolate cakes; i am more than a wet dream; i am more than these ten fingers; i am more than these five holes; i am more than this lapse in judgment; i am more than a time marker; i am more than the lover of hide-and-seek; i am more than this train running off its tracks; i am more than these trophy cells; i am more than the keys of this chain, board, lock; i am more than a place to put your pieces; i am more than a piece; i am more than not.