He sits on the roadside
breathing ebony air,
swimming in ink
as thick as curdled milk,
blind to the passerby;
he hears everything:
all their conversations,
exclamations, furtive murmurings.
They all know who he is,
they know his father, mother,
disgraced kin.  He's famous,
infamous, his beggarly aroma
...

Everyone’s an evangelist for something.  It’s natural.  If something has changed your life for the better, you want to share that with others, especially if you love them.  I’m an evangelist for Neti-pots and weighted blankets.  My children recently put on an...

On the day that America entered the War in Iraq, I knelt in church praying this Prayer of the Holy Innocents from the Book of Common Prayer:

      “Receive, we pray, into the arms of your mercy all innocent victims, and by your
      great...

Some of us will be statistics,
counted among the thousands
who succumbed;
no splashy send-off,
flower-strewn casket or
weeping mourners.
                                    Mother Teresa
died just a day before...

When your arms, holding, hurt, O God,
  all full of painful cactus spines,
temptation sees you as our foe.
  Foes abound, without a doubt...
foes that you cannot abide--
  fear and cruelty, hearts of stone.

But you were pierced with spines
  that caused your sacred heart to bleed
for...

I can still see bromeliads growing
  from behind the glass, stalks projecting,
reaching, golden crowns lifting.

And I can see wisteria blooming,
  hanging fragrant purple heads,
mourning in the morning light. 

Birdsong penetrates my walled-off ears,
  and hummingbirds and...

I had one uncomfortable moment when my cousins were visiting me.  Even growing up in the same extended family, we have very different attitudes about some things.  One of those “bones of contention” involves social media.  Other than my blog, I don’t participate...

“You make your path by
walking it--reading
a virgin track for others
to follow--through meadow,
up hill, into friendship....

...

A mongoose slinks and darts away
As if at hide and seek he plays;
He sneaks across the carpet green.
His hope?  That he will not be seen.
What causes such timidity?
Who does he fear?  Could it be me?
Does he dread his own compulsions
Or fear causing vile revulsions?
No matter wherefores or the...

She reaches arms out,
little spindles, spokes
of a botanical wheel--
tentacles of light
about to explode
into floral fireworks.

In pre-profusion,
mystery yet unfurled,
she's overlooked,
ignored; no one cares
what she might be,
until one day she
bursts forth, emanation
white and star-like,
and then someone
...