L U M I N A * N O S T R I

  Tree-ache. These two bend toward each other then split. Their parts never meet. Not at the root, not at the feet. Limb to limb, they remain just out of reach.  But they bend toward each other, two adams apples that almost kiss. I could love you if  this one whispers. I could do that if  that one pines. What is it between them?  Race? Politics? Would-be  in laws? The number 3? I could do that if  that one whispers. I could love you if  this one pines. Air. Air builds narrows like these. Come on, we all know Air’s  greatest pleasure… to rush

Horseman I smell your soldered scent on my dark blue v neck sweater. I know you are gone for good. Which boots are right for a walk through the mud? Do I stop at the top of the hill? March on to bottom of the glen?  Where can I sit and feel winsome as a younger me? How I long to stare at a horizon as if you haven’t already galloped through. 

 Not All Sundays Are Created Equal Wake up early to a world renewed. See your children’s teethy smiles, Disneyland on their horizon A photography talk on magic realism on yours. Spend your mistake with a psychic and talk about everyone but yourself. Rinse off in the Pacific, let its cold salt shock you three times through. Sleep unprotected beneath  the sand spattered sun. Sing your afternoon away  with stranger friends. Dine with your complicated family and come home with one author tried and true, and one author brand spanking new. Smash as many hearts as you can stand on the ‘Gram And sit on your back porch as the stars poke through the lies of pooling blue skies, endless.