Just before drowning

In this dream

I am in Paris.

It is just before dawn and

a man waits beneath a

street lamp.

A sad smile that doesn’t

reach his eyes passes

through me.

I am the memory of an

anonymous red rose.

Between lovers , he roams

the lonely streets at night

sinking  into eyes as deep

as the river Seine

the kind one might find

just before drowning.

Light in the Night by Paul Militaru (thank you Paul)

Loved Like Roses

From this room

where we meet in light and shadow

where love is made –

and war,

the stars reflect on a peaceful

field of blue iris.

I need to be loved like roses.

Silvery blades of a crescent moon

slice through fields growing wild.

Transparent things on winged feet

flit through silky Zoysia

nipping at life with amorous teeth.

Cliff Girl

House of Heart

In my infinite smallness

looking out across the ocean

my arms are albino snakes

basking in the sun and the

hot sand burns my bare feet.

Pearls of abalone are strewn

across the sand and a

garland of stars is tied to nothing but my hand.

I am the universe lending life to

solid stone as the sun streams

down my throat where there is no voice.

A child’s laughter rings through

Ancient coves where

lovers await the rushing tide

to tumble them into the sun again.

Beneath my feet lies a carpet of Jacaranda

and my empty hands carry no burden but love.

art by Steve Hanks

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dried flowers

Where are you my love?

Chasing shadows along storm swept streets?

Turbulence has exfoliated the rosy blush

from my cheeks.

If I speak my words may bleed down

our silent walls.

If you change your mind I’ll be

waiting by the front gate

dried flowers in my hair.


The sweltering breath of a summer

squall rushes east to west weaving

through Spanish moss and tender

willows that brush the earth.

discreet voices drift through the

sultry night (Is that possible?).

The storm moves out through the

western horizon, it’s breeze

fresh and clean.

Across the way a single candle casts

shadows on a strangers wall.

In it’s ghostly light a girl dances like

a wild bird to subdued sounds.

Her slender arms take the shape of

starling wings, undulating murmurings,

a melody and she alone drives the night.

art by Steve Goad

Net of Dreams

I dreamed you beside me

in a small fishing village

our bare feet dangling

from a weathered  wall.

Stone  soldiers guarding

eternal  holding back the

swell of the rushing sea.

From the beacon of an ancient

lighthouse wings of sea birds

shadowed a forlorn sky

only to vanish in a woeful beam.

A shell at my ear  I held you,

gathered  you in silk netting arms.

Released from my grasp you

slipped away

freed from the catch of dreams.

sea side

Gold Dust

From the train I can see miles of Pines,

they seem to go on forever.

There’s a golden wolf howling,

chanting to the midnight Gods.

By morning the Pines give way

to Palm trees and screeching Cicadas.

Tonight the stars reveal the belly

of the world from which we come.

What I have left is a photograph.

Tell me night-time dreamer

why you hold so many secrets

in your heart.

When I look into your eyes all I see is star dust.

Woman Travel By Train Portrait by Ilya - Travel, Woman
art by Ilya

The Thing Is

I sometimes browse old snapshots

or read again  a book that you sent me

dedicated in your own hand.

When I miss you most I hold

the keepsake that once

sailed the seas.

I listen to jazz  that we loved

or you reciting poetry.

That is the thing with the dead

they leave behind those memories

kisses on cold figurines

 messages from an obsolete address


Losing June

By morning I have renamed us.

Thrumming wings take flight

 through crimson wounds

you have christened with your hands,

 a forgiveness I can believe in.

I’ve etched your voice in my memory

to not forget the glossy sound

of humming wings when you speak.

In dreams crystal eyes orbit above me,

brilliant satellites,

so that I may sleep free of shadows.

I’ve pared us down to dark and light,

forgotten all I knew of love and when

I try to speak my words catch

at the cache of my throat. 


“The Embrace” by Gustav Klimt

By The River

Remember the cabin among the trees hidden like rabbits in nests of autumn leaves?  Beside the window that looks out on the river there is a writer’s desk  with printer’s ink and fresh flowers kissed by the sun in the window sill.
Do you recall the peaceful days we shared  among the redwoods that spoke to us?  The memory evokes such nostalgia for that ache, that fierce crushing devotion. I left a heart shaped basket of seeds in the arch of a tree for the birds to scatter, then etched our names on its bark.  I will always  remember you and the cabin by the river,  the sultry nights I would dance for you, sheer layers floating  to the herringbone floor.

GoGreen Roulotte | Canopy & Stars