There is no love like soul love,

no rain like a soothing spring shower


after a long dry spell. No one knows

for certain when the rains will come


only hopeful that it will replenish

the garden and not wash it away


in flood waters, the savage brutality

of Nature. When you see the clouds


approach don’t run for shelter but

dance in the dust and embrace the joy


of every drop secure in the knowledge

that new life will burst forth from the


barren Earth and nothing will be the same

as it was before being touched


by the Divine.


Midnight tickles your turned up toes,

dawn scrapes your knees

but your head is already in daylight

kissing the setting Sun and not me.

The scent of musk and the north woods

spark a scene, an arsonist’s rush…

don’t believe everything whispered

under a sage moon.

Memory is the landscape,

longing the river that meanders

like a lost child in dream.

Currents lead to dried riverbeds

and forgotten photographs, flotsam

on the once raging river.

Suddenly I find myself nowhere,

making sunshine out of oranges,

searching for roses on the moon.