The blue heron watches the lightning; wants to take a ribbon of it for the nest. That's how they built their home. Letting the wolves in and reading them to sleep; recycling sorrow into ship-building

i. The wind singes the round, brown earth. The wind lashes the long jets. The wind blows through the great oaks and through the bodies of the sparrows. And, through our bodies. The wind becomes humble

Intimate relationship is one of the great amplifiers of our unlived parts. We can count on our partners to relentlessly illuminate everything that is unresolved within us. Not because they have some agenda

I. I picture you picturing a picture of you in clam-diggers and shin-deep in bay mud grinning and not entirely toothless your rake smacks the mud sounds like a wind chime as you drag small treasures to