not a pretty picture. not a good. not a bad. picture. but an argument.

Friday, December 30, 2011


as your body is gone from me, my voice grows smaller. 
i have layers upon me like the matted hair of a cat
and in all my bodily being there is but one small resident of a mouse. 
its heart beats so fast i am afraid of it like a thumbprint. 
how easily it might be eclipsed. 
i push it back underneath the table out of harm's way
where it manages to stay alive, warm like an earlobe,
waiting for your return.

Thursday, December 29, 2011

the small blue bird

the small blue bird is, of course, a metaphor

but that makes it no less real

Wednesday, December 28, 2011

once there were leaves

once where there were leaves
now there is silence
a heartbeat between two cupped hands
a hair's length before the talk begins again
of when and where and how
new leaves will grow

Tuesday, December 27, 2011

book and table

it's a quiet night.  he picks up a book and begins to read.  the story might go anywhere despite what the words drilled onto the page might suggest.  it is this way with writing, with love, with each new day, with life;  the story becomes what the story becomes.

Monday, December 26, 2011

winter day

how much
low little
comprises anything

Sunday, December 25, 2011


 the gift of self over and over again, this almighty nugget of i that i would like to break
and yet it is upon my ears, i-ears, that your love does hang

Thursday, December 22, 2011


she lopes through the wilderness

i strain to hear her
as though she might ever be captured

Sunday, December 18, 2011

Saturday, December 17, 2011

Wednesday, December 14, 2011

in light and shadow

it was a winter night
when he lit the candles
and set down his book.

i sat still
watching the match
struggle against the bureau top.
it raised its head like a bruised man
toward the heady flames,
not wanting to be extinguished.

Monday, December 12, 2011

anatomy of a house

there must be structure at the core

lately we find safe and quiet places to be in our house, as though we need to find shelter from even its larger more noisy being.  my children and i take to my bed fully clothed, read books, lounge, touch one another's fingers.  this structure is more sound than any load bearing wall.  i am in love with this intimacy.  i think of putting a king sized bed in the living room and kicking in the tv.

Friday, December 9, 2011

Thursday, December 8, 2011

storms come (and go) suddenly

i am sitting at my desk
expecting the outside world 
to be as i left it

in an easy moment
i look up into a storm
it rails against every window

what else can i do
but shout for joy?

you know nothing, erin
you are so small

yes, yes~

Monday, December 5, 2011

your name is a -

Poems For Blok

Your name is a - bird in my hand
a piece of - ice on the tongue
one single movement of the lips.
Your name is:  five signs,
a ball caught in flight, a
silver bell in the mouth

a stone, cast in a quiet pool
makes the splash of your name, and
the sound is in the clatter of
night hooves, loud as a thunderclap
or it speaks straight into my forehead,
shrill as the click of a cocked gun.

Your name - how impossible, it
is a kiss in the eyes on
motionless eyelashes, chill and sweet.
Your name is a kiss of snow
a gulp of icy spring water, blue
as a dove.  About your name: sleep deepens.

Marina Tsvetaeva  1916

Saturday, December 3, 2011

Tuesday, November 29, 2011

being passenger

what it is to put the forehead to the window
and let the world pass by

what it is to be a passenger in this life

and aren't we always passengers?

Monday, November 28, 2011

i never never

there are a great many things i never do

i never walk downstairs barefoot on the cold floor
i never go without a bra
i never linger in the bathtub with no purpose

there is a much longer list of i nevers that intimately defines me

but what walls do we create upon ourselves inside of our i nevers?

what keen living lives just a shadow beyond those walls?

(the view from my bathtub)

now i have walked barefoot on cold floors
now i have gone without a bra
now i have lingered in a bathtub with no purpose

by deconstructing
i shall climb beyond my walls
and crawl through the shadows
to know myself

Thursday, November 24, 2011

any room

we can go into any room,
every room,
and what does it matter
unless we stay long enough
to touch a wall,
to be touched by a wall,
to notice
the faint glow of yellow? 

long enough
is never measured by time.

Thursday, November 17, 2011

but for this madness

but for this madness

i do not understand

and so i drive my body to obelisk, a sacrifice in being, a whore, a knife

i walk silver strident

   something in the rock shines like ice when the sun rises

a crucible

and all about the sky a silver belt

and i count my loves like 

   something in the sky around the stars that shine is vague like rock

and i remain so alone

and i do not understand

blessings all around

with tomorrow coming fast

Tuesday, November 15, 2011

these bodies

these bodies are our doorways
i kiss these bodies

Sunday, November 13, 2011

Saturday, November 12, 2011


what do we hide (and from whom) and what do we choose to reveal
and just who do we think we're protecting?

Wednesday, November 9, 2011


Tuesday, November 8, 2011

where two seasons come together

no coming together is seamless

Monday, November 7, 2011


each and every room of ourselves
and of the world around us
even if empty
holds so damned much

just consider the walls, the floors, the ceiling

Saturday, November 5, 2011


always it shocks me

what the slightest shift in perspective might render

Wednesday, November 2, 2011

water cooler etiquette

how the happy poplar congregate

and over there
the solitary birch
and the pine with the itchy feet

Tuesday, November 1, 2011


only we can find it for ourselves

Monday, October 31, 2011


before they all fall, fail and disappear~

Friday, October 28, 2011

how we are

brief, barely rooted, life

Monday, October 24, 2011


for no other reason
than two lips together
are so damned sweet

Sunday, October 23, 2011

early morning curtain

on the other side of this curtain a woman sits frozen permanently (in my mind) on a chair beside tables of stuff for sale representing years and countless memories.  i can pretend i know what happens on the other side of the curtain knowing this, but these few elements are not enough for knowledge.

on this side of the curtain time ceases to exist as i open my mouth

Monday, October 17, 2011

small green leaves before the wind takes them

i am a small green leaf

Saturday, October 15, 2011

between the trees

there is something in between the trees. and i don't mean in between each individual pine, or between the pine and the tamarack.  i mean there is a place between the tree and itself being the tree, that i recognize from a timeless self, a self so young i don't know time yet.  i recognize this place.  it speaks out from my chest.  and it speaks inwardly, as well.  driving through the forest i hear this voice.

Wednesday, October 12, 2011

where skin meets inanimate meets new life

did you know that it is only soil and water that make the tree? 
 you take one page of soil and pass it like velum over one page
of water.  and what of babies, my soiled page to your water-
shed, verso to recto?  what springiness results then, what
 uncoiling life! what of poetry? what of that?  what of
murmurings and half remembered dreams?  what is more
real, my leg or the chair?  what if we were to crumble the
page of my leg and plant it inside the page of the chair? 
what would be born then?  what books?  what verse? 
what life?

Tuesday, October 4, 2011

curtain and mirror

in a photograph
where does the importance lie,
the value?
is it distinctly inside of the frame,
or is it that which is suggested? 
what about in poetry?
what about in life?

Monday, October 3, 2011

how i am i

where do we look
and what do we see?
what choices are we making and why?

yes, the world is here
it is as real as a stone or a forest
but inside of that forest
(and even inside of that stone)
there is an infinitude of choice

everything we choose to see
this is us being us

Thursday, September 29, 2011

one day, finally, at the culvert

there are culverts the world over
doors which exist
so that we might move through