Garden

Garden. Image, my own. May 2026


Flowers

wind-tickled orange California poppies
ruffling out of the window boxes onto the lawn
volunteer aster, knife-thin petals a delicate periwinkle,
tipping out of the ceramic planter onto the sidewalk
white drops of yarrow speckling the back fence line,
crimson-tipped columbine as yellow
as french butter standing in long grass
purple-bloom phlox creeping over the pavers


you know, flowers bloom and grow
where they have not been planted, too
it’s not just the weeds of the world that take
hold and root–out of sorts, out of place–
flowers find themselves in some of the
most improbable places: limen, margin, crack, hole
pockets of forgotten places, like the weed
flowers rest, crack, breath, green, open, bloom, home

Flowers. Wasatch Mountain State Park. Image, my own. May 2026.

Infinite Instant (Value)

Hyper industrialized technocratic capitalism loves stuff– get, earn, buy, show, own = exponential power
Earth teaches that dressing expressly shapes us as we go– shift, season, roll, expand, contract, grow

Your value will never come from what you get, own, amass, pile, stock, hoard, cling
Your value, the infinite essence of you– water, earth, atoms, stardust, synapse, consciousness–

Universe, flashed here, together, for one finite instant– alive and visceral
Power bred of getting only leads to the black hole of eternal indifference

Mom’s Sitting in Cars

She tells me it is one of the few places she can find rest

She sits in the warmth of the Spring sun at the base of the hike

She’ll get out of the car in seven minutes, but, for now, she rests in the green house
of the driver’s seat

Light dances in the long grass, breezes sway the pregnant grass seeds, winds finger
the cat tails

Lace wings, newly hatched, flying ants, and common house flies wind, wind their way
over oak leaf, aspen branch, sweet pea petal, sandstone pebble

Out the window, I look to see if our van has come back after her departure– haste, rage, let-down–
seas of disappointment rush in as she opens the door to the house to go.

She breaks the seal on the silence, the lack of support, the non-existent help.

Into the Clubwagon, her umber hair half-swept from her face.
There’s no other way to describe it. Despair, weighs on her shoulders
Description fails to detail how lonely she really is. Her eyes wide with heaviness.
Now, hours later, she pulls back into the drive. A modern composition of woman,
She sits there. Still. Her face shadowed by the van in the glare of the street light
on the corner. Torn. Caught between love and overwhelm. Between grace and
chores. Holding and letting go. No one is coming to save her. Supporting her family
with a steady pay-check and circles of duty as the house crumbles around her.

I situate my body on the couch in the house like her body in the dark car. Face
forward. Greeting the gulf between every fairy tale and this now.

This is how I begin to understand abandonment.

Learning Love

In the end, it turns out,
love has given us the
power to heal wounds–
ours and our neighbors.
It starts from within,
from sitting with your tender
heart, holding your
Self, with greatest care,
it comes from others, those
who will walk with
Us, sit with us, laugh
and experience joy in
one bubbling, effervescent instant
Love has the power

Space

Westwood Hills Park Loop; Napa, CA. Image, my own. April 2026.

Jazz

jazz, how something
jazz
something so messy
so seemingly unkempt and
chaotic brings
jazz
something so messy
so unkempt and chaotic, disordered blooms
jazz
so unkempt and chaotic
brings subtle peace
jazz
brings calm clarity
to the mind
to the being
jazz

Napa Valley, CA. Image, my own. April 2026.

Lonely Place (II)

I’m still alone in my anxiety, in the pit of the stomach of the thing

Why does it take humans constant living to remind them that they
are alone and together all at the same time?

being alone
being lonely
being human

are they the same thing?

Am I still sitting at the table by myself?
Or is that just my childhood imagination talking?

What does it mean to be truly intimate with someone, in that you
you can call and text and still be alone

you can have sex and still be alone, still remain disconnected

you can be married to someone and still be walled out or wall

Maybe I’ve built too strong and well against vulnerability

The horns at sunset. Westwood Hills Park Loop; Napa, CA. Image, my own. April 2026.

Noted:
I noticed the quiet
omission of those three words
when you said goodbye

Eventide. Napa, CA. Image, my own. April 2026.

Space

What does it mean to need space, to take up space, to be in space
If we look at all of the bodies surrounding us, antithetical to room,
In definitions of space we might see blackness, bed covers, a field,
Yogic bodies in goddess pose, scientists from my planet on a vessel,
Artemis, a vehicle, the goddess of the hunt, she blasted them up into
The heavens, the dreams of generations of humans went with her
Astronauts in first grade classes from the sixties until that the final
Countdown from the Kennedy Space Center in twenty twenty-six
Imagined that moment, enraptured by the darkness, a new pitch and
Moment of aloneness, closeness to mortality like very few have lived
Our utter contrast, a bluegreenwhiteorb, pure pith and circumstance
Twelve months, our orbital timeline around the sun, twelve moons, of
Waxing and wanning, newing and fulling, shifting and pulling oceans
It’s hard to know what will come of this push and pull in the end

Wyeth grasses. Westwood Hills Park. Napa, CA. Image, my own. April 2026.

Vast Expanse

Fish Springs National Wildlife Refuge, February 2026

Align

-In celebration of 
Planetary alignment 
And love and life

Sometimes, like today 
February 28th
All of the planets align

You commit to your
Own wild adventure, 
You  break sonnets 

Into sentences and 
Receive messages 
From the sea, the 

Oceans of desire 
Swell and calm
And swell again 

The foam of ancient 
Seabeds, laid down 
In marl of 

Seashells, an intimate 
Mixture of calcium
Carbonate and clay 

Prehistoric alluvials,
A vast bed under the 
Broad blue sky 

Where water, once 
Abundant, La Mer, is
Friable through fingers

The rise and fall
And rise of each breath
Rolls heavenward

Yet, now, all 
That undulates on
That vast range 

Are block horsts from
Earth’s basement,
Deepest oceans of

Molten waves, 
Mountains upon 
Mountains mirror 

Wave upon wave
The blue sky, Everything
Signifying everything 

The eons old lake, 
Long gone, becomes 
The background 

Of our days and 
Nights and days 
As the full moon

Wanes and waxes
Another quantum wave
Of space and time

Between Fish Springs Range and Thomas Range, Pony Express Trail

The Lonely Places (I)

I used to say that my family came from all the lonely places
That somehow, my diaspora got together and agreed to live
On vast plains of prairie, and in dry canyons and deserts
We moved with our own rhythm to the far north and
Set up tiny claims on sweeping vistas of the American
West, the lonely places– unwelcoming, sparsely inhabited

So as we drove yesterday across basin and range after
Basin and range, I could understand some of the longing
That knits the heart to space that confirms the lonely insides
Always looking out, through a window on the barren world
Where with delight a dusty coyote sprints across your path,
Downy woodpecker, her black mask, lights on a cottonwood branch,

There Earth’s bends, striations, upheavals, and rich history
Sit in blocks, and rocks, and mountains which carry our
Eyes beyond the present, forward and backward in time
Fox trots in and out of sage lanes and sand loops across the
Lonely, bereft, solo, alone, solitary, single, unaccompanied, one
Landscapes that require a yearning which cannot be quelled

Sevier Plateau, February 2026

Feminine

we are left fighting
against softness in a world
so desperate for peace

we’ve left her circles
behind to find that tech gods
of degradation

blight the entire
atmosphere, each system breeds
another fall and

trapped in arrogance
and ignorance we’re ripe for
tragedy, collapse

cycles of seasons
wind-songs and river beds all
speak her name, whisper

too soon, we sold her
sources, strength to greed-gutted
rulers, monsters, thieves

we are left fighting
for softness in a world
so desperate for peace

House Range, Pony Express Trail

Celebrate

Timpanogos and Half Moon. Image, my own.

The Death

each stalk of grass
is hollow and barren
this time of year
skeletons of
viridescent pasts
like raw
leafless trees
memories of living
and of dying
the pulling back
the cocooning
of life in silent
night, darkness
chambers, interiors
of many plants and
animals teaches
us all about the
death and the
rebirth of life, light
so that we won’t
fully despair

Deer Creek. Image, my own.

The Return

the light
returns this morning
with the owls
they call
from tree to
branch, as sun

pinks surely
over the
charcoaled horizon
kilned through
night, and sealed in
the new, cold light

of this
winter morning
where I’m aghast
at the magic, memory
magnificence, majesty
transitive verb

of the whole
thing where I
am present
when the light
is seven minutes
old and each

photon graces
my retina with
the reminder
that the light
always returns
until it doesn’t

until the whole
sky is
bathed in numinous
halogenic possibility
the presence of
the now

as the light
returns
may we remember
the power of the
darkness
the importance

of slow, intentional
rest, the rejuvenating
properties of
sleep for a world
that simply needs
to listen to

the magic of the
intransitive verbs
of owls

Christmas Windmill. Image, my own.

Dark

Enfold me in your blackness,
I don’t want to be afraid of the dark
In fact, I want to embrace my shadow
Shadows of all that I thought would
Suck the marrow out of me, but instead
Offered me a respite, a resting place
A hallowed breath of solace and silence
Dark, the thing that so much incandescent
Luminosity is meant to fight, to ward off, as
Humanity wilts under all this light

Tamarisk and Gray Skies. Image, my own.

Space

Maybe the most surprising thing about poems is that they take a fair amount of space and time
The words are often all there, waiting on the lip, the tip of consciousness, but flow takes room
Takes open-ended realities, wide skies like altars in the arcing air, vast closenesses and distances
Which the heart contemplates, the healing place, the hell, the compassionate lengths to which a
Human will go to tell a truth, a peace, a playful nothing, a love, a life, a poem

The Road. Image, my own.

Don’t Die

when it began, I’m not quite sure,
but as of late my son has a new post
script for nearly every exchange,
“don’t die” he tells me as I start
the engine of the car, “don’t die”
he encourages as I head off to work
“don’t die” when the rain is falling
in sheets that darken each atom
of exposed earth, he must understand
something about the nature of life

Beloved and Time. Image, Aubreigh Parks.

Celebration

sometimes the celebration will be the growing of the light
minute by minute over the horizon, moment by moment
in our children’s eyes. Sometimes the celebration will be
the sleep, the forgetting, the separation and the longing
which brings deeper communion with the divine, the
place, the way, unsure, the path, the journey, one precious
step at a time. Sometimes the celebration will be the growing
of the self, the yearning, expanding, nearly cracking open of
your sternum with the enlarging, ever-beating heart, the lungs
full-burdened with life giving nitrogen plus oxygen, exhale the
heaviness and grief, inhale, close your eyes and let go

Timpanogos Sunrise. Image, my own.

Gather

Observatory. November 2024. Image, my own.

Gather

So here we gather
On this bright and
Dark day in the Fresh
World, to see if there
Is a turkey of love
Between us– siblings,
cousins, lovers, parents,
Friends. And there it
Is– LOVE– carved out
For us in some miracle
Since the creation of the
Cosmos scuttled us
All together on this blue-
Green blessing of a planet
Quantum journey, accidental
Adventure, maybe in another
Life we don’t know one another
We haven’t stood witness
To one another’s joy and
Pain. But here, now
We are the people we
Know and love because
Of particles of song shared
Between us, and mud
Fights on Thanksgivings
Long ago, and stories that
Have connected us all
Bringing us to this
Moment– to Gather to
Settle softly into miraculous
Gratitude. Thank you
I love you. Forgive me, I forgive
You. I love you. All love.

Art Center. November 2024. Image, my own.


Other Ghosts

So now there are other ghosts
The angels of the past have
Come to comfort and protect,
To bring peace and stability
I don’t know how I know, but
Others feel it too, they enter
They awe, I feel the ancestors
In the daily spirals of
My existence, the soil of
My backyard, the song of
The trees and birds in the
Ancient ash. Many others
feel them, too, and tell me
They are near, they are
Present. I know that I am
Not the only one who has
Ever been separated from
My alter, my shelter, my
Building, my dreams torn
For a vision of the future
I could not ascribe
I’m learning each day
That each ancient has
Been sent as a guide
The present and the
Beyond, they’ve become one

Fall-Winter Bridge. November 2024. Image, my own.

One

Of the most powerful
Things happened to me
And I can both be humane
And protect myself against
Smiling scoffs, unkind people
Who would make a mockery of
Pain, I am so glad that I can live
My life wild and free, I was
Given a second chance at
Love, at happiness
You too?
I will never take that for granted,
My joy– that joy will go on to
Fill me, myself, my people
And all the rivers of song

Community Garden. November 2024. Image, my own.

The “Last” Great Thanksgiving

That’s what the menu read
And then they were all gathered
In one place—humans—with the
Most similar genetic makeup of
Any group of sapiens on planet
Earth. Siblings. And it was good

Woods– lovely, light, dark, deep. November 2024. Image, my own.