Writing

My father at the piano I see him sitting there, patient and proud, teaching my son about chords. Two musical minds, decades apart, syncing on

Listening deeply, sometimes you can hear The sound of your heart, beating steadily, reminding you of your existence and your fragility. Sometimes you expect it

The moon passes her twentieth night She is mature, confident in her role, observing us as we are nestled into couches, chairs, beds for the

Your body is a confection Wrapped in a tight, shiny wrapper, to me, it glistens in the bin with all the others. It doesn’t stand

For evidence of this, spend time with trees When you question your fragile life, spend time in the forest. Be amazed by the strength, beauty

It’s night, and together we are letting go We sit close on the old, soft, raspberry couch, in its third life. We are not close

Move your arms like wings Just as in your dreams, where you can fly; transforming your motion to a weightless, soaring being, looking down at

The Muse is a little girl Tow-headed, boisterous, hands on her hips,daring meto control her, mold her in my image, to worry about heras she

What of your rushed and useful life Have you paused and taken time to do nothing? Your rushed and useful life is satisfying, yet you

And what am I doing here  Sitting in the springtime chill of the ocean breeze as it ripples the water in the bay, the sun