Spring awakened a morning of blossoms; the evidence of night color drained like a moon governing tide. Low on a magnolia tree, at the crossroads of branches, a flower, no less strong in color than those canopied above, spread its paddle fan pedals richly in pearl and pink. The approach of a late afternoon sun … More MAGNOLIA CHARM


Spilling from an open window like morning tides creeping wet and slow into tidal basins, a horn from the second floor washes to the alley below between red chipped brick walls. Shadows form the coolness of notes, like stars falling under a black heaven pushing the beat of jazz as a man pulls the sound … More THE ALLEY BELOW


There are a number in hiding, an invisible color, like hedgerows, self-protecting, settling into quiet corners, pulling at their shadow, building on the strength of alone. They are the crowds of the unnoticed, claiming an unwanted seat where they feel secure. They are end tables of thought, conspiring with overthinking, finding comfort as the part … More QUIETLY ALONE


          A flock of geese dripped winged shadows on the surface of my arms and face.   A moment of cooling, a passing motion washes darkly through my hair, then slips past, continuing over bushes and onto sides of things the images from heaven spread long throughout the day.    


We gather.  Move into. Absorb the years.  Claim the day, wonder about the past. Unclaimed and unfinished minutes become armies of hours, dissolving as they pass, draining beneath us, out of us, drowning us in the air we breathe. In youth our legs championed obstacles. Our dreams outdistanced everything. As gladiators we overcame and conquered. … More TURNING THE CORNER


A Song full of horns fell out an  open window, splashing the air while reaching the sidewalk where passerby’s failed to notice the temporary comfort. Tenement dogs growled nervously at barefoot children.  Colorful chrome decked cars and men with hats cruised by.  A police siren attempted order.  A young man ran into the alley. Like … More TENEMENT RISING


        Hearts find strength where music lives and breaths birthing thoughts like babies crying loud in any language no matter if with ten toes or twelve with brown hair or blond curls crying is crying like music that calls us to the band playing the jazz we need to hear night or … More THAT CRYING KID


The desert is fevered in heat. Dry without compassion. Life on the edge of edges. A moment in the sun risks everything. The temperature is a million candles, burning sand into glass. There is no running.  Breathing is labored.  Hats fail at being hats. Desert sound is silent at night. Flying creatures move without friction. … More LIFE OF DESERT


The moon is a reflection in the eyes of night people.   A silver casting from above draws over dark ground, forming gray shadows on the leeward side of standing objects.   A flat moon face gazes into our small space where we huddle, looking up, wondering the distance and how to get back.   … More REFLECTION