Always one step away
from the waves to your right
and my hand to your left.
Always in the middle
between how I saw you
and the edges of my memory.
And always I keep stepping closer.
I think it’s the getting closer
that makes your feet colder as they move back in the water.
And then I begin to forget what you look like.
As your body disappears between the foam in my mind.
The sound of the current drags your voice away.
Your smile disappears beneath the waves.
I know you can swim.
I know you can find your way without me.



I found the drip bringing me on a rhythmic trip.
The splash against the pans
and the filling of the pots,
the drops just didn’t seem to stop.
So I made a song, a simple song, right there in my head,
while I laid about, right there in my bed.
This day had no color, and also no end, it seemed.
This day had gone on forever,
I had been laying down for a millennia, you see.
Each plink from liquid to metal
signaled another year in time’s endless pedal.
Each minute was nothing,
something to be forgotten.
I only wanted to stay in this position,
and never really be begotten.
I wish I could have said
that I could have gotten up at any old second,
but something had compelled me
to stay bedridden in this moment.
And so I sung in my own mind
the words to a song to pass along the time.
The plink, the pour of a leaky faucet occurred,
over and over until it was just a blur.


Within my daily doings,
between occasion and event,
I always feel a tugging,
a sensation I can not comprehend.
This strange persuasion draws me,
to leave just for a moment,
and enter into a lively daydream,
one of quiet enjoyment.

A stream runs through this vision of mine –
perhaps flowing with thought –
and shows to me images
of things that I do want.

Fantasies of far off lovers,
of wealth beyond compare.
Fabrications of reality
in which I live quite fair.

But yet I know this daydream
is exactly that,
and it is lost within a second,
when Earth calls me back.
The river runs dry,
and I must say goodbye
to my mind’s sacred tranquility.
And again and again
I hope to find
the water’s gleaming and shimmering.

Black House

When I see the black house rise in front of me

A mood crawls up my mind

Seeing an ancient purpose

Repurpose itself

I thought it was over

But the dark paint is still dripping

As if it never dried

I never turned around

I should’ve checked if I locked the door

I was careless because I was afraid

And now all the windows are open

And the draft’s blowing in

The water’s seeping the wood

I better hold tight for the wave

Swamp Dream

The following passage is a dream I experienced in my sleep…

I feel my feet sinking into mush; my shoes are seeping with water. I’m in a swamp clearing, ringed with low hanging vines and half-dead trees. I turn around with my feet still in place and spot a man directly behind me standing next to a pool of murky water. He’s dressed in a stainless white shirt and khaki shorts and staring right at me. He suddenly dives into the water as I lunge after him yelling, “No!” His body completely disappears from view, the water barely making a splash.