IMG_8288It begins with winds of change
that threaten to blow the house down
in the night

Forget about the pictures
on the walls
and the things left cooking
on the stove

If you’re lucky even the nails
will be swept away

and that little secret word
you use
in emergencies like this will
be useless

It’s time for new words

All the pickets are gone
and even the posts now look like bones,
skeletons of the past

Don’t worry about the why
of your heaving body
and indecipherable gutturals
snaking through you

just accept that energy wants to dance
and requires a vast vessel

the one you are
the one you are becoming

A night that seems too long
blesses you with a dawn
revealing a new landscape

inviting you to rebuild your house
only from what you find within

the shelves are stocked
with everything you need

and a sacred sign suspends itself
from the center beam:

Come in, wondrous one
you are second to none

From a new collection called ‘No Lies on the Mountain’, out later this year. In the meantime you can get Re-Membering: Poems of Earth and Soul, available on Amazon, Indiebound, and your local bookstore.


There you go again
half way to somewhere

which is a somewhere
that you’ll also try to flee

without really being there
with the tidal fog
and nettles of you

one foot out of the door
of the moment

allergic to the shelter-in-

and its ravine of awe-full voices

On the other hand—
on which there are at least five
more ways of touching things—
Perhaps no place

is exactly where you need to be
for the strange and slick surprise to unfold

Without some tight agenda
some do-gooder-grasping
for a spring on the other side
on which you really belong

Perhaps it’s no u-
nor -dys

but -a no place

the deepest center
of everywhere and when

inside which your breath
is found
and how to get from there
to the next season of things
is anybody’s guess

even the nettle seed
and tidal fog
and the ravine that holds them all


And you have the rest
of the day
to fit in

and make your face do the things
that other faces do

and your mouth utter
all the things
that aren’t your own

so why not take this
silent blue moment
with the heron

to wake up the day together
with your true face of delight?

The stale masks will still be there
hanging on the wall at noon

alongside the others, judgment
and disappointment

in the afternoon you can follow
the story of the others

who are following someone else’s story
and in the evening you can join

the others in the ritual
of draining the light from your eyes

But for now,
put in your eyes
of dawn and dew

and let your bright peace
unveil itself as the fog recedes

your bones and what holds them up
have been waiting
so long for it

the long night’s last star
doesn’t seem to mind

and the day’s star might even join you



The hour arrives
to turn the volume down
in order to hear.

The season of silence begins
with a low guttural
and the treetops glistening—
you enter the dark
foraging the listenings.

Some silver-bladed violence
in your mindknot
begins evaporating.

The untangling commences.

Now you see, the bright thread connects the important things.

Things un-split.

A mammal presence
fills the cave.

Like a long-forgotten season,
a rest deep and thick emerges.

When that hour arrives
the bones signal their agreement,
another ear opens
and old songs shake themselves
out of your marrow.


This poem is included in the new collection ‘Silence Begins Here.’ That and my collection of love and erotic poetry, ‘Wild Rose Hips’, and my polyRiverous celebration of rivers, mountains, and souls ‘Riverever’ will be out later this year. In the meantime, You can get RE-MEMBERING: Poems of Earth & Soul. and High-Cooing Through the Seasons: Haiku From the Forest through your local bookstore, on Amazon or Indiebound, Link in bio. Follow me for mythopoetic inspiration and @wildnatureheart for my heart-centered nature connection & 1-on-1 inner/outer wilderness work.


F8C6B24A-E26D-41FE-BAB3-103E4CC88950If you begin each chapter
with ‘and the moon comes
and the moon goes’

You, who climb horizons
even with stiff joints

will find it’s always a new world
as it’s always the old one

Your responsibilities lay
in the soil now
and with the webbed ones
caught in fear

and through the new doorways
which you pass
you’ll pick up pieces left
in your canyons so long ago

Put them in your wide-brim hat
and home in on your belonging

become an obsessionate one
like a convict who loves his fate

Tie those dreamland suns
to your dirty feet

Fill your grotto with flocks of fire
for the unspoken desire at the bottom
and all of hunger’s cousins

Forget all glamour
not worrying about who
is pulling who
Or how stunning you look
when the wind knocks you down

It is enough to receive Time’s wounds and blessings
and breathe like an ocean
one tide at a time

So, yes, let each chapter begin—
‘And the moon comes
and the moon goes’

And bear witness to each season
like a raven


It is understandable now
how all the Precious things
go into hiding

Even in the village the voices
become too much with us

And we feel must either flee
to our beloved
or stuff all the precious things
under our rug

Hoping we’ll catch a glimpse of
the spark, some small portion
in the silent hour under cloak of night

It mitigates the damage done
Is something we say to ourselves.

Soon, we look in the mirror
and a Dragon appears

And wonder what hour it is
and what kind of creature
we’ve become

And our neighbor
also stashes treasures
under their moonsoft dreampillow
And even puts some of them out
on trash day

The late hour’s owlsong has us choosing:
shall we be the dragon who hoards

Rich and beautiful
in our desolate loneliness

Or the Dragon
who drops gold with every print
Warmth with every flap of the wings

in an amnesiac world determined
to hide all the precious things

But some slant of dawn,
some chant of birds
some wayward drift of poet’s words,
finds our eyes our ears our heart bringing back our precious parts