Once, When Looking Up

yellow aspen

I see You there, covering

me – a cathedral ceiling

of finespun gold, aspen-boughs

crowning my way with glory.


I hear You in the whisper,

silent assignations passed

from one trembling yellow throat

to another, gentle sighs.


I feel Your gaze rocking me sweet,

and I breathe, slow and deep, pause

mid-stride to rest in dappled

acceptance, cherished by shade.


You are here. You, Your essence,

Your presence – it sings, sunshine

in shadow, gold filigree

on an altar made of wood.


Splintered, I crack open. Your

notes rustle in my veins, seep

past knots, and I’m rooted here,

utterly, completely me.

Summer Senses



When green grows bold and paints the land

with emeralds in verdant hand,

and mourning doves in cloaks of grey

lure shadows down from Milky Way,

you see it’s summer.

When peonies let loose their scent

in waves of summer sentiment,

and lilacs dab behind their ears

with French perfume to rival peers,

you smell it’s summer.

When watermelon drips in creeks

down saturated, pink-stained cheeks

and rhubarb tartly wraps itself

in pies and cobblers on each shelf,

you taste it’s summer.

When breezes tickle sun-tanned skin

and Sunshine hugs each friend as kin,

the grass grows silky carpet-down

and sand meets shore where toes are found,

you feel it’s summer.

When wrennish scolding shames the cat

from lurking where the nest is at,

and children’s cries of pure delight

rival fireworks at night,

you hear it’s summer.