Napowrimo Day 6 — Debris


a child’s jacket,
on a sunny playground

the day-old newspaper
my son wraps
around his dad’s
Micky Mouse mugs

the dry limbs
of the Peruvian mummy
her face hidden
under the curve
of her arm,
her body curled
around a five-month

a stolen daffodil
handed to me after recess

this sheaf
of poems


Napowrimo Day 2 — I tell you True

I tell you true, true, truly,

as the sun rises from the western sea

with blinding light

I never woke from sleep

with your name on my lips



as the eastering sun casts long shadows at noon,

I never whisper your name

to my heart

at work


truly indeed,

as the sun slides down and the heavens stand still

and the far side of the moon swings into view

full and bright,

I never said

I wanted more,



Napowrimo Day 1 – I cannot live with you

I cannot live with you.


Your habitat is desert.  Mine

the northwest forest, damp

with moss, maple, fir, pine,

tangled with plump black



Your habitat is desert.  Stone

and sand, cholla, prickly pear.

The heated sweep of sun

that your summer   day bears

will blind me.


So how is it that I always

finish your sentences? That you

finish mine?


Minds melted and melded,

roots and branches intertwined

by distance and difference.



Napowrimo Day 1 challenge: write a poem beginning with the first line of another poem.  My first line was from an Emily Dickinson.