I ache
for an adventure.
Every bit of my soul tilts
toward the magnetic pull
of a boat just setting sail.
If I were to wander
off beneath the trees and stars,
would I lose myself
in the curves the path may take
or find the map that leads
my forgotten places home,
rejoicing, to my one whole heart?

The eye follows
the curve of the tree
the map of the stars
seeking what?  Perfection
is a bribe
given to the soul
to keep it from rejoicing.  In wholeheartedness
we find connection
to the long-forgotten ache
planted like a seed
just waiting to break through
and live courageous, wild, free.

Wild
mysterious
untamed one
calling to me
from the wilderness,
teach me
the taste of you.
Let nothing else
satisfy.

The snow
on the far-off mountain peaks
sparkles in the morning sun
asking of me
this one question:

Knowing it is fleeting
that no season ever lasts,
does that not
make it more poignant
richer
deeper
sweeter
this one and only taste?

To be a hopeful person,
one must listen to the whispers of the world:
The sighs of ease exhaled by green things blanketed in rolling fog.
The swish of elegance as the flowers turn their faces toward the sun.
The creaks of happiness bones exude when loving ones embrace.
The hum of connection between two souls when strangers choose to smile.
The tender lullaby the stars croon to each other all night long through the darkness.

On a blue-sky morning
with a crisp, cheerful breeze
death arrives
soft as the tread of a butterfly
perhaps as delicate
though it leaves us
gasping with shock
forgetful as we are
that the lace-thin veil
flutters
always
just there
close as a kiss
on the forehead of our beloveds.

Five fiery maples
burn on the hillside
among torpid evergreens
and squatting shrubs.

I want to live like that
aflame with passion
even in the face of a season
that portends my death
blazing with the confidence
that every glorious surrender
precedes certain rebirth.

Pink light
paints the fuzzy hills
the shiny edges of the city
the sky beyond
in a warm midwinter glow
propositioning me
at the end of a hard day
to soften
back into someone
who breathes in patience
who sleeps in peace
who dreams with hope.

Once I feared
what I might lose.
Now I live
with loss
pressed against my bones --
sweet anguish.
What cannot be lost
cannot be lived.