there’s another place a city road leading to the edge where red roses color a meadow and a forest line provides a crooked path, like an open door, unseen, but known to wanderers, owning the sense of the line crossed over, where shadows are honored like myself to have been there once


a gust of evening wind cools the skin while I follow a path beneath pine boughs and their sweet aroma   an opening light of the moon brushes past mists of ghosts   stars appear like diamond footsteps pointing toward home as night follows close by my side


We are water in a great river. Each with a clock buried deep within as we search for a place not yet seen.   We move in flocks and herds, down roads without numbers, climbing stairs to doors unfamiliar.   There is a calling within a few. A message scrawled on the heart, a word … More RUNNING THE RACE


The door was half open or half closed. A silent message of entry or release. Quiet held the air hostage. Outside sounds found another place to speak into day. Moments of decisions gnaw at choices. The whereabouts of capturing a thought or driving it out hung in the balance. Each life walks a line, visible … More SEEDS OF DIRECTION


Years of herself filled up into her eyes; a flood of voices speaking her name. Over a back fence she sees a path leading away; looking hard with passion, the steps in her shoes hold the line. She points as if with a dieing hand to a hill, a place of memories holding tight to … More A NEED


They call him the watchman, caretaker of night air within a fenced area at the lower lip of town. He walks slowly with a slight limp, checking locked doors, marking the time, scuffing in black untied boots on paths he made. His eyes are sad, malaise filled like curtains almost closed, leaving a slight crease … More THE WATCHMAN