Jesus in a runaway shelter 
projecting outward
like everything
(let the mirror express the room)
pooling words, pile by the back door,
Life is full of clues to crosswords
so dance with eels and silver jews.

The neighbors I’m surrounded by are gems,
they are the treasure I seek.
My roommates are a nest of
hidden duck eggs. 
Our house has 7 names: Swan Pond

Velvet Train Ride 
                          Rivendell 
                               
 House of 7 names
   
   Jaguar Reef 
Jupiter and Jupiter 
                                        Mockingbird Manor

My Darling
His overalls twisted,
the sides are open windows
Stimulus money pours in through the tax returns,
Liberty! Liberty!
at least, for some.

Slippery creek rocks
fallen shrubs, cut grass,
the sky sprinkles us
with crusts of cloud
Everything shimmers like a freshly penned word

There is no greater game than Trust.
There is a no more satiating victory 
than losing one’s self 
to muses.

I’ve heard that having children is an admission of hope
admitting hope is pretty lame these days…
But
when an artist chooses to reveal their work
an earthquake shakes the earth,
the heavens and stars tremble.

Easy grip the shaggy hair,
the elusive bigfoot 
of your dreams.
Give birth to the egg of ideas
that lay forming there
in the sacred, encircling darkness.
What more seeps in through the sunshine 
or infests your long blanketed sleep
or dances through improvised songs 
one with the birds, the train whistle, the cock’s crowing,
the dawn’s Ultramarine.

Like the fire, we transmute all
through observing our own screen
and noting the shadow’s outline.