blessings are dropping
their petals
all around you.

grace is spinning
from vapour, from mist,
from the frozen core
of all that scares you.

the stealthy love burglar
is stealing your
and stuffing a sock
down the throat
of your precious
sense of inadequacy.


the only complaint
in the forest
comes from
your ego.




this cleverness

this cleverness
with all its clicks and searches,
with all its news
of competition and control,
with all its bombs and bombast
leaves me hollow
and a bit ashamed.

i prefer
walking out in the morning
into the early light
and the smudge of frost
on my breath,
into the little brown nuts
of song
collecting around the chickadees,
into the sweetness
of sleeping trees and squirrel nests,
into the subtle trails
of wonderment.

this morning
a little red feather
wafted down
and landed on my scarf.
then a thousand flaming words
followed me home
and built a nest
in this poem.


blossoms fallen


Forget every
word or glance,
every sound or sight or touch
that didn’t teach you
how to blossom,

how to open
toward the light,
how to hold the night
in the soft centre
of your being,
how to carry
the generative gold
of a pollinating mind
into the tasks
of the moment,
how to offer nectar
to the gentle seeker
of mercy.

Forget every
blight of nurture
and every barb of nature
that didn’t teach you
how to let go,

how to fall
from the branch
without dying,
how to truly

blossom tree 1 2013 1001849_10151538092158052_181009000_n

05.01.16 (for the poem…my sweet annie passed 06.06.14)