Golden Lady

Woods edit3

In golden splendor do you sit
among the woods
surrounding your grave.
Romantics have sung
finer songs than I
about the state of your repose
in the autumnal glow.


I walk your path quietly,Woods edit4
hoping to see you barefoot
and tiny behind every tree.
I whisper your poems
like a conjurer,
hoping to lure your ghost
to walk with me.



But you stay quiet in your bower
and leave me to my solitude,Woods edit5
only dropping a polished acorn
onto the path like a consolation
for your missed company;
a sun-warmed promise
of next year’s spring.




It’s okay

To Justina 2.0

Prayers, Opus 40, Saugerties, NY ©2015

Guess what?

We are always going to be okay.
We really are.
Everything hurts, then feels good,
and then hurts again…
But in the end, the sun rises, and our hearts beat.
We hug, and sing in our cars,
and sip warm coffee from favorite mugs.
We love and we lose,
and smooth our hands
over cold stones in the river.
We stand naked in the pale light of dawn
and count the breath that leaves
warm from the heat of our lungs.
And feel small and alone,
a bundle of skin holding together a vast consciousness,
laying on the surface of a speck in the universe.

And it’s okay.
It always will be.



Sacred Vessel

Magdalene, Memorial Gallery Rochester, NY
Magdalene, Memorial Gallery Rochester, NY


Am I looking in the right places?
Fragments of you scattered
across blank pages
and left in empty rooms.

I’m searching for you
in the shelves of libraries,
and in the silent shadows
of abandoned cemeteries.

I swear I hear you,
when I’m walking away
quickly from the crowd,
and in the dark of my room.

At times I feel you,
lovesick and tender;
broken by the plot line or
made full by the act of kindness.

I’m alone with you now
in the quiet galleries,
beneath the goddess
showing me the way.

Weathered finger pointing
to the seat of your throne,
close to my core and
surrounding all I am.