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first word last word interrupt

from a work in progress: “process, not a journey” (27)

if anyone speaks

of anything

she might know

some small bit

that might relate

to her

a childhood memory

the center

of a collapsing star

anything at all

sparks her speech

until it is hers

and she turns and

turns and turns

all to her

as if she were

more

than who she is

and knew more

than

what she was

(February 16, 2020)

storm surge

from a work in progress: “process, not a journey” (26)

yet I suppose it could be worse

the tidal pull and push

leaves me stranded

among the dune’s desolation

or drowning beneath the wave’s

cold pulse

                        so I take my meds

for ten years each morning

without fail I perform my Eucharist

without wine or blood or flesh

just chemicals I’m told will save me

from the rising tide

(February 12, 2020)

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contrapuntal

from a work in progress: “process, not a journey” (24)

in the turn of dawn and dusk’s

vague half-light night becomes

neither herself nor the other

but a transitory beast slavering

wildly ahead or at the heels

of the raging sun

                                    shadows pulse

through me with celestial fire

each rock leaf flower

each grain of sand vibrates

in resonance the textures

of the world

                        I am all I am

and all I am not a conduit

for violent streams which fall

silent into a churning sea

(February 6, 2020)