Courage is not the thing with a mane –
lions got logos,
lions got merch,
and entire camera crews
waiting for them to yawn

Courage is a feral goat
standing on a ledge
the width of a shoelace
two hundred feet above
common sense.

This cliff was clearly designed on a day
that caught the Architect in a foul mood.
Courage has the audacity to audition
for the gargoyle position.

Courage just keeps showing up
where the math says it should not,
chewing a thistle
like it owes him money.

Gravity waits below with a clipboard,

as Courage keeps putting one shaky,
ridiculous hoof
after the other.

sensation’s snaking a wee bit deeper here,

The syllables of the desert fathers

This is a kind of prayer
watching the sun play
with the trees through
my window, reading
Nikki Giovanni (thinking
about how she saved me once)
with breakfast & a steaming
cup of raspberry leaf tea

There are emails to respond to
Messages to be present to
(pain from across oceans to ease)
dances to be learned
skates to roll
And a liberated world
to create

I like to think this prayer
gives me the strength & joy
to be present to it all

winery buys eggs
lemon meringue is the plan
count me out, wine please—

And the women cried
through the chanting in the mosque
the women with covered heads,
even the Americans,
they all cry under scarves
behind the screen
apart from their sons,
their lovers
their husbands
their fathers.
They cry – they cry,
they chant – they chant
the prayer for the dead
whom they mourn.
Holding hands
like each of them
were the widow,
holding hands
with themselves.

Chilled fogging
gulps leap from the spout
to my hazy crystal glass
that now has my fingertips
only temporarily
engraved.
A rich
transparent mauve dancing
around the rim
as each drop
droops down my tongue
dragging

your bitterness

and that sweet blackberry
dream
along with it.

Full bodied tool many years in use
Filed sharp as it hangs in the shed
Quietly removed from the hook
the gardener carries it over the shoulder  

Beginning  first row the hoe glides
The sound it makes as it moves through dirt
is soothing and sublime  

As it strikes a small rock there is a clink
Stones do have a use although away from the row
Garden soil offers small resistance
Rhythm is steady as the mounds gather close
to potato plants willing to receive their embankments  

At days end the hoe is reverently
scraped and washed
After a cloth dries it
a few passes with the file renew the edge  

Back on the hook in the dark
the hoe waits for the next task
The gardener has completed
another office of communion  

Baking is an alchemy of precision,
mess, mixing, making mistakes 
(call them inspired innovations),
and magic.

Apply heat, carefully monitoring
the state of the potion. The result
nurtures your body and feeds 

your creative center, especially 
when shared with others.

Simple joy.

I am a Hummingbird

outside your door

I will drink

from the masters

of marvels and more

while

their ghosts promise

secrets

of what its all for