this

the flow of this river

the completeness of this you

the fullness of this very now

ice leaves

this holy closure

this empty containment

of summer

so like light

there is

(in the form

of an object)

a truth

that points

away

from itself

so like light

we can't help ourselves

we can't help but sing the beautiful words

each time we poke our heads above the clouds

of expectation

and look around

so . . . .

linda sue's brother flew away . . .

so i'm sad for my friend . . . .

steven

this very red

this red

like a mouth

an opening

into a world within this world

the other side

you might guess that

through the spaces

i see water air

the other side

and a place i don't know well

the truth

there's something in the smeared reflection of trees that seems somehow more truthful to them

than the gaunt leafless spindly bodies that scratch against the sky

and are even now absorbing the heat of a premature summer day

that's thawing their sweet lifeblood

and drawing out the buds of their becoming

lüüp see you in me

available on itunes

braided

haller lake

all things

they pulled the sky closer

even as my body rose

between their outstretched fingers

and i saw

the bare hills

rippling

into the distance

and wondered

at the ends

and beginnings

of all things

the circle

my body

somehow knowing to gauge the space

to measure and ensure the necessities of staying aloft even for this one small moment

me, stretched wide

as thin wings would allow

my tight fingered flight feathers twitching little arabesques

i glided

and then settled

into the wordless circle

love is a place

love is a place

and through this place of

love move

(with brightness of peace)

all places

yes is a world

and in this world of

yes live

(skilfully curled)

all worlds

e.e. cummings

these are

these are the colourful webs

let's call them "ourselves"

let's even call them "us"

these are the beautiful spaces in-between

let's say these are the ways

we choose to "be"

let's call them "being"

is

never mind the "when" or "if" or "perhaps" of life

all of this

is

it very simply

is

there is only one moment

we stop

and hold the very little moments

feeling

their strength

and then also their fragility

so like eggs

and in the warmth of the hands of our souls

the insistent pecking

of wholeness

makes itself felt

and then quickly visible

in the tiny cracks

that radiate outwards

and then inwards

all

in the same

moment

margaret

i live in a very small family as a result of which, each member has a more

pronounced effect on the other members of the family.

fortunately i have been blessed with a family comprised of strong, interesting, constantly questioning, curious, creative, talented, clever people who live their lives in their own entirely unique way and each bring their own version of goodness into the world.

today is (my aunt) margaret's birthday.

margaret is my only aunt . . . and i lucked out because she was the cool aunt . . . you know, the person who dropped the important books . . . siddhartha, and steppenwolf, a book of dali prints at exactly the right time

to wake me up to the worlds beyond this world . . .

she was the person who took me to europe in the middle of my messed up teen years and made sure that i saw berlin - east and west, amsterdam, koln, and many places i had read about or heard about and which suddenly became entirely real and colourful.

margaret created a space that my own parents couldn't - through no fault of their own - that allowed me to grow beyond my own limitations.

and to be clear, i am very grateful for her existence beyond what she has provided me!

the world is a richer place for her incredible food, her kindness, her gardens, and so much more!

happy birthday margaret!!!

dear world

lay your ribbons

throw your stars

slide your lights

across the skin of me

let me do

what i know to do

and ask no questions

tell no lies

be as real

as you imagine

i am

yesterday

yesterday began

as if i'd already lived it

and i spent much of it

breathing life

into the nothingness

of each moment

willing it into a sort of torpor

that barely approximated life

and yet

tomorrow arrived

in all its barefaced and cold glory

regardless