Walking back from the grocery store, I chanced to look up ( Read more... )

I shall survive the Namib.
Unseen, I will sip the dew
From a single leaf as the sun rises.

I shall climb the Congo's mountains in secret
And live
With the gorillas.

I shall reinvent the
Rivers, and plant magnets
At the ends of the earth.

My hair will grow long and wild, as will my heart.

My mother
Lined her bathub with shells.
They spoke of another world, when I
Had not existed.

The weather today echoes them, as
rain falls loosely,
Streaking the trees with white
And the road with grey.

In Italy, shells are commonplace.
The child in me is cheated.

This morning ( Read more... )

Droplets line the petals of the magnolia trees ( Read more... )

"I love that explosion of taste in your mouth ( Read more... )

We used to listen
To my irises at night. Life has its sounds.

A whisper, a paper fan, tossed up upon a shore.
Slowly, always slowly,
Trembling in water's echo. It stretches
As it dries in the sun.
The whisper of a breath.
Footprints and stamps on glass.
The wind.
And then, silence.

This spring, the irises
Will bloom. Some things never change.

The first of the year, time ( Read more... )

Air wrestles through the blades of the palm trees. In the distance, the crash of waves as the Indian Ocean creeps slowly, past shadows of seaweed and bits of coral, up the beach to lap at the feet of stonetown. An equatorial night is dark and rounded, the shell of some sweet-sour fruit, full of secret stirrings. It lies still in its heaviness, ( Read more... )

Happy Canada day ( Read more... )