She Hides

ruffed grouse


She hides her soul from prying,

pulls invisibility

close, feathered mantle shielding

vulnerable organs. Should

strangers breach her barriers,

happen suddenly upon

her inner sanctum, retreat

protocols dictate complete

withdrawal, complete shut-down.


So when she hears her Maker’s

footsteps in the garden, she

freezes, terrified, lest His

x-ray vision spy her here,

naked; not comprehending

a Love without boundaries

or condemnation, she hides.


This ruffed grouse didn’t understand that I meant her no harm, and beat a fast retreat. Is there a bond between her kind and mine, after all?

Playing the Angles

Is this how you see me?

Protracted, a subtracted slice of the radius.

You choose your angle,

and create a new constant for pi.

Your vision consists of

shifting perspectives

and mathematical improbabilities.

But I am more than my circumference,

my value not how I am divided and conquered.

From where you sit,

you will experience only

a pale 2-D image.

When my sphere spins, its rounded eclipse will

darken you who,

in numerical illiteracy,

play the angles.

In Knots

My words were draped upon firm postings;

Truth bore them well, so I thought.

They were to be the line  anchoring our thoughts together.

But sounds rebelled, and snarled at a sticking place –

Communication, that rare sighting,

rather than coiling heart to heart,

 tied itself up in knots.

Loops as holding hangers gnarled, and wove

a meaning unintended.

Now whose end is whose?

Where do I begin and you end?

Who is left holding the frayed edge,

and who is the dangling participle?

If you cannot catch my drift

I will float away,

un-anchored and un-caught,

my heart unheard,

in knots.