forget my heart is there

until it aches
A breaks
the morning breaking
dream of her crying
and being my mother
and it come true
falling apart
in the spring
at a touch
of her shoulder
and take care.
driving away

life so fleeting
and confusing
we have to help
each other

leave it all up to love
when it feels like your
soul is in the lost and found

the screams of sports
wind, broken feeling
against daffodils

having to remember
what I’ve said before:
it’s ok

frozen in a nightmare

woke up Sunday morning
wishing lord that I was stoned

Indian women going missing
having to be prostitutes
roses in the river
for lost mothers
crying in the park
“it’s hard for all of us”

my lupine plant cut down
by the mowers

(the theme songs floating through the day)

we turn into our idols on the shore
sparkling like egyptian rings
she’s got everything she needs,
she’s an artist she don’t look back

listening to it together twice on the record player
playing it in the morning
before recycling
on your guitar,
singing different words to its melody
about the sausage man:
he’s got all the meat
he needs, he’s got the harvest
he don’t look back

wanting to look back
leaving apartment in the rain
fearing things fallen out of pocket
but not looking back
you in black
playing train on the porch
was all that I needed

people walking by in threes
in the sun as I repotted seedlings

red bird by the free pots disappearing
on the curb

tallest man on earth singing
visions of walking across the current
river rush at dusk
man walking across
in whisk lines
vulnerable to me slowing
down & remembering
what’s important:
human life
words that heal
music that heals
no longer in a hurry
to get anywhere
I walk upon the current
like it’s easier than land
plastic wrap hanging out of
window in the clouds
longing to be free

just let go

the red cardinal in the morning

barely time to think
makes you want to mix a drink

I’ve got a prayer
but too few occasions to pray

what have I ever done
what have I ever lost by dying

books of poetry appearing for me
in the grocery store donation bin

duck guardian swimming
from the bank
river guides, thank you
what words are mine?
none-this is a blend
of all of us

if I had wings
like noah’s dove
I’d fly up that river
to the one I love

it’s true
the world’s
a sharp place

I am the peeling birch
blown out into
the wind

the bluejays big
as magpies by the creek
oh bluejays you’re
as big


(scenes as songs)

it takes a miracle
just to survive

the little boys tickling me
to the ground last night
it making the broken
home laugh
then sitting in bed
with wine bottle
with their mom
laughing and crying
the most we can do is stay alive
ride fast through the river
island on bicycle, this is
what we do

the dreams in which I’m dying
are the best I’ve ever had

dream of driving around
in my mom’s new luxury
automobile with a golden retriever
who liked to listen to the radio
and have me crack the window
& I thought it only takes five
hours to drive home to spokane
why don’t I do it more often
could feel the dog’s scratchy
tongue on my leg as I drove
wanting salami I was snacking on

the life all over, tiny spiders

crow jumping from branch to
branch around me-human like
as if it had just entered
that form and was enjoying it
the birch bark peeling, blowing
in the wind like a human
had entered

why must people cut everything down?
why chop the plants and trees?

gotta remember not taking
things for granted:
the eggshell sky

spiders crawling
up from the grass
as you wrote a letter
to the bread bakers

how I can see
my clothes bursting
at the seams
and ragged,
wanting to blend
with the rock moss

island police
flipping a u-ey in front
of us & circling back onto the
“who is there to pull over
the police?” you asked
as the muskrat head floated
by, river twilight mesmerizing
us—the flying machine we
saw—a motorcycle
with a parachute,
& then a plane
that shut off its engine
and coasted above
the water
imitating bird calls

some darkshadow walking
across bridge to the island
then disappearing
lions and wings
drawing the chariot
card from your breast
pocket in field at edge of forest
birds curious about us
climbing trees

old europeans riding the
sun scented bike trail
fenders on their bikes
the gray haired woman
wearing ruby red shoes

say a prayer for my taken
apart bed on the curb

say a prayer for C in japan
she ain’t got nothin’ at all

A saying her grandmother
was forced by the catholics
to kneel & say hail mary
outside the church for 100 days
for having a baby out of wedlock

dreaming of finding
a beautiful mandolin
and having to run
with you over train tracks
from violence

shutting off shower,
hearing rattlesnake
it coming from the Doors

sitting by
the river in the night
with you-blending
with everything

you stop to write
a letter to the future

only to find
the earth moving
faster on its axis,
making the planets

makes everything feel
like being in a slow car
passed by others
on the freeway.
making us go back
to unfinished things
& confront the past.
making us lose sleep
and weep.

my car parked in a lot
where a fire had just been,
water pooled on the cement,
a woman smashed
her car into a telephone pole
after putting it in drive
instead of reverse
right in front of me

what will make you believe
my stories?
the river giving birth
to a blue robin egg
it hatching
& being adopted
by fish

the stone
opens up & bathes
me in its secrets

the spider sits
& listens