Basket of Mushrooms: Three Cheritas


Leo winks from cold dark night

eavesdropping on what bubbles up
from hot water conversations:

“My! What big souls you have!”
“My! What big hands you have!”
“The better to meet you by.”


3 am rumble

the ground beneath me shook
like a sudden gasp of air

a fault had slipped
from a talkative earth
jolting me awake


I met her on a hill in the rain.

With a basket of mushrooms
of assorted colors and sizes

she carried herself
like a new person in town
but an old soul on earth


“It Was Good Seeing You”

two pelicans“Don’t threaten me with love, baby,
let’s just go walking in the rain.”
– Billy Holiday

“It was good seeing you”

doesn’t mean my eyes
took pleasure in seeing you
though it includes that

it means
when we walk and you say
what brings you alive
what you’re afraid of
your thoughts about
trust and rivers
and justicia
baked beans and herbs
and joke about kink
and artificial intelligence

it is real

meaning, I enjoy watching your face
shift like the phases of the winter moon-
from laughter to pain
and back again

meaning, it’s meaningful
to be in your presence,
as opposed to your image
or words on a screen

our eyes meet meetingly

meaning, your existence matters
to me

I like knowing you
meaning, I love you

It was good seeing you.

How Shall We Find Each Other?

fractal-atomWhen I say, “The mushrooms
are doing pushups, the madrones
are dancing happy,
and the dawn
is smiling smilingly,”

It is a fact.

Because I say so.

And when you say, “Actually,
trees are rooted,
so they can’t dance
and they can’t be happy,
because they don’t have minds,
you are projecting. And besides,
smilingly is not a word, and even if it is,
you’re being redundant,”

It is a fact.

Because you say so.

When I say “a butterfly is a silently
floating pyramid of Original Dust,
ancient wingéd atom,”

and you say,
“Actually, atoms are the basic
building blocks of matter,
consisting of protons, neutrons, and electrons,
and even smaller units called quarks,”

because I don’t see blocks or units,
and you don’t see wings.

So then we say, “Perhaps we can’t be friends anymore,

because I don’t know where you live,
nor you, I.

How shall we find each other?”

But I need you.

And you, I.

Where is the Directory
of our Imaginations
that shall tell us
where to meet?


IMG_4300I hear a steady melody,
a murmur, soft and strong
sounds a bit like wildfire
inside a mermaid’s siren song

I hear it like the heartbeat
of the cosmic heart above
Written across the dark night sky
a different kind of love

Perhaps it’s a comet
come to destroy the earth
making way for something better
something giving birth

Sounds like the ocean waves
crashing upon the shore
Sounds like a surprise guest
knocking on the door

Sounds like a couple drums
that sets the dancers free
Sounds like a humming thrum
Calling mountains to the sea

Sounds a bit like wagon wheels
Rolling across the hills
heading straight in my direction
At least that’s how it feels

I hear a steady melody,
a murmur, soft and strong
sounds a bit like wildfire
inside a mermaid’s siren song

Which Sparks?

sparksnew sparks
are everywhere
if one is not asleep

that was never the question.

the world is nothing but
from a certain perspective
doled out like
El Nino
shedding raindrops

can’t catch them all.
yet none are wasted.

but still, choices:

which ones are for the tinder?
(easily combustible)
which ones are for the magic trick?
(flashy and mysterious)
which ones are for the fireworks?
(pretty colors and a big bang)
which ones are for the kindling?
(a flame to play and read with)
which ones are for the fire?
(providing heat, light, beauty, and intensity)

which ones are for the glowing embers
once the fire dies down,
yet keeps you warm
through chilly winter nights?

which ones are for the fire
around which friends sing songs
and shoot the shit
but also share secrets
and themselves?

which ones are for the fire
’round which
lovers’ bodies are kept warm
and hearts kept even warmer?

Which ones are for the fire
’round which
plans for future fires
are formed?

which ones will be the ashes
that fly away on the quiet wind
and are forgotten
and which
to remember warmly
with the eye of our heart
and celebrate

in the end,
darkness comes calling
and all the sparks have sparked?