Each day brings new clouds into light

Like ships with sails of purest white

Upon the blue sky-sea

What port awaits these silent fleets?

Perhaps the stars that sleep

Below horizon waves can speak

For now, whatever secrets they shall keep

Are borne on whitest wings, like sheep

They travel, herded by the wind

Across the sky and into sea

Ah! If only clouds were like the stars!

Like seeds sown by the distant gods

Upon the black sky-fields

Their ripened twinkling bears its fruit

Upon the ancient minds that painted

All the pictures between points, to form

These constant constellations. And thus,

Like branches and like roots

They root themselves in song and dreams.

But no one sings about the clouds

Those silent, distant sails of white

Upon the blue sky-sea


My mother taught me how to fold.

One night, she laid my shirt face-down

“It’s like when praying,” she told me.

”You need not raise your head so high.”

And then she smoothed each fold and crease

”Though we may never see our backs,

It’s best to keep them smooth and neat.

Who knows who might be watching you.”

And saying this, she turned the sides

Towards the center. Then she flipped

The sleeves outside. “Like angel wings,”

I heard her say. ”The wings we lose

When we are born, and all we have

Are arms and hands we must make strong

If we desire to reach up high.”

The bottom she then flipped to hide

The sleeves and folded back.

“We all have secrets, you and I.

Best hide them inside. Prying eyes

Won’t find the key for that.” And thus,

She carried all my clothes, all flat

And smooth, she gently laid them on

The bottom shelf. My own, within

The closet doors. With gentle pat

Upon the pile, she sighed. “So small.

You were so small back then. But now

You’ve grown. Some day you’ll take the shelf

On top, and all the rest you’ll own.

For now, we rest just like those clothes.”

We closed the doors, and soon our eyes

Like angels, we flew through dream skies





Each day, I travel to my heart

And fix each broken, damaged part

Each crack and break I do repair

The damage wrought by old despair

The dust I sweep outside the door

At times abrades the tender floors

The heart then itches and it aches

The nightmares come, though I’m awake

Each unkind word, each cursed deed

Is carried by the dust like seeds

To grow, take root within my heart

Until the weeds tear me apart

The task of cleaning never ends

Of weeding, sweeping, and to mend

This heart that’s been through wear and tear

Though scarred by wounds, still tries to care




The summer season singes skin

And tans the tops of tallest trees

When I was young, the ground was browned

With sunburned grass and fresh-baked soil

An arid gust blows through the trees

With weathered, wrinkled bark, with leaves

Once green, now shades of gold or brown

Or gnawed by pests or plagued with spots.

They all come floating to the earth.

The winds sweep past me, swirling leaves

That dance around me. One more chance

One sliver left of life before

The summer wind shall pass it by.

And down among the worms in holes

Or cracks upon the thirsty soil

They lie, a field of bodies browned

Like children’s skin, as we did play

All summer long among the fields

Still young and nimble, full of sweat

And blood and life, no blemish mark

Or scar or tear, or tears to cry,

For life had not yet weathered us.

Like sprouting buds we sought the sun

Though it may burn. It warmed us up

And in our minds that was enough

As, crunching dead leaves underfoot,

We danced throughout the summer months

Among the tallest, bare-branched trees




A ship adrift in stormy seas

That’s me, at least when trying to sleep

The bed rocks as I toss and turn.

The tempest turns within my head

Each thought, unwelcome, sweeps away

The semblance of a peaceful sleep.

In waves they come to beat the hull

I call my skull. It’s weathered much,

Although it might not handle more.

The hours pass. The storm dies down.

Have I now drowned or found a port

To rest this weary head? Who knows.

But I know this: The crashing waves

Are now a gentle hand that rocks

With rhythmic flow. My eyelids close.

The ragged breathing these past hours

Gives way to whispers without words

It’s colder now. I feel I am afloat

Within a pool. I cannot move

A fingertip. My mind protests.

This peaceful lull is foreign, strange

For one so used to stormy seas

It screams to bend my fingertip

As if it was a key to turn

And then the fire again will burn

I’ll be awake and sailing then

But while my mind screams in its shell,

My body sinks beneath the waves.

If this is sleep, or even death, I fear

No end. So let it come. I take

This rest with me towards the depths

And sink in deepest, endless sleep



My hands are aching, the day’s washing

Is waiting for a hanging.

A hundred bubbles, born from suds

And soap, take form like flower buds

One bubble, larger than the rest

Comes to a rest below my wrist

And in my palm. A fragile ball,

So delicate, its glassy walls

Refecting light and casting hues

And colors, swirling, dancing through

I then recall the ancient scribes

That thought the endless skies

Were but a dome that sealed our home

The twinkling stars, the moon and sun

Were jewels embedded by the One

That made us, dwelling in the World

Beyond the dome, with all Creation undisturbed

But I, imperfect in my form

Reach out to qtouch the raging storm

Upon my palm. The bubble bends,

Gives way, and disappears. It ends.

In time I will be bent, give way

And disappear. But that’s the way

We creatures are, just bubbles made to fly,

To shine, and like my bubble world, to die




I left my other half today

We went our ways. And she and I

No longer had a moment’s time

Before we passed each other by.

I went above and she below.

I thought of her upon the hill

But did not turn and loop to her

To my surprise, she did not chase

When flames of passion died, our love

Was severed like old string. Perhaps

With time unraveled hidden truths

That broke the string that held us close

And yet, that bond that we once shared

Can never fade though it’s been frayed

As we, apart, now walk upon this road called “life”