Self and reality. Symbol and language. Myth and image. Memory and consciousness.
Dream and unreality: locus communis.

Tuesday, December 31, 2013

Sacred Items 8/8

385/ pulling on a mask of Pan, the human face fades into thick brambles of unkempt hair and goatish whiskers, with dual curved horns to balance the autumn moon

Sacred Item 7/8

384/ —or the gift of a golden-green pear in sunlight: it transforms to an image of the Buddha curled in waves of meditation

Sacred Item 6/8

383/ a branch of laurel leaves hangs over the front door— inviting the god of the sun to come within— an open invitation

Monday, December 30, 2013

Sacred Item 5/8

382/ two strangers lean close together in the dark of the alley; his nervous hands slowly undressing the trembling form before him

Sacred Item 4/8

381/ crossing the footbridge over a shallow water, we slip into night— as wearing a worn, old coat with empty, faded pockets

Sacred Item 3/8

380/ pomegranates waiting in a glass bowl—gathered in a tight present tense moment, the full moon drawing out the blood hunger within —

Sacred Item 2/8

379/ the moment just before a cobalt pony exhales swells of air, scented with cut grass, sunflower saplings—
the unfolding day fading

Sunday, December 29, 2013

Sacred Item 1/8

378/ the hesitation of a temple bell-ringer’s hand, moments before the tidal motions pull him forward into the still night

Friday, December 27, 2013

Silence Falling

377/ at a loss for words, a heavy silence falling complete, absolute—so I rise, wash my face—rubbing in vocabulary

Sunday, December 22, 2013

Beside Me

376/ he curls beside me as I read aloud a book my father once read aloud to me— my son’s warmth expands under cold bedsheets

Saturday, December 21, 2013

Oleanders, Luminous

375/ watching the day fail from windows without curtains— imagining wild oleanders, luminous in the grey winter twilight

Friday, December 20, 2013

Coven of Winter Sparrows

373/ the moment unfolds itself, becoming something other— an object inverted within itself: broken infinity loop
374/ finally, after waiting a year, a coven of winter sparrows visit the backyard feeder, scattering seed everywhere

Thursday, December 19, 2013

Closing Another Book

372/ closing another book— laughter falls from upstairs— confirmation of distance between our lives motioning forward

Wednesday, December 18, 2013

A Lost Conversation

371/ down the hall the sound of a closing door, firm, yet almost hesitant— as a lost conversation— or your hand shifting away

Monday, December 16, 2013

A Moment Hidden

370/ there was a moment hidden in the alphabet, hidden in obscure phonetics, sounds of release and restraint, forbidden noise

Friday, December 13, 2013

Blue Hour

369/ unexpectedly a ghost of the past rises as she draws the blinds close, blocking out the blue hour, the past failings of the day—

Wednesday, December 11, 2013

Broken Branches

368/ concentrating, he scrawls a design made of lines, green diagonals paired with blue— they lean forward to the east— broken branches

Friday, December 6, 2013


Frustration rises lately when images do not fall into an established order— or syllable counts fail to match the cadence of my natural stride— due to the brief nature of tanka (waka) poems, one expects the internal voice to replicate a quick scene without the need for revision, without altering word or verb tenses.

Partly the frustration dwells in the expectation for a strong sense of autobiography in the daily verses— taking a moment from the current frame of time, then expanding on the experience beyond a casual epiphany— twisting a reality into an unreality, a tension between fact and subtle invention, partial dream.

With restrictions such as these, the burden to find something to write intensifies, and then, flees into the underbrush of the blank page.

Tuesday, December 3, 2013


367/ midafternoon, we trim back my hair on the back porch; a day after my forty-ninth birthday—almost a midcentury mark—