Who can tell
what goes in one's mind?
More complex than
this awesome universe,
It is Nature's formidable labyrinth,
It is Nature's unique creation.
 
It is omnipotent
It is a reflection of
our indomitable spirit,
It is an echo of our heartbeats,
It is the core,
It is the beginning and
It is the end of life.
 
It is where Life unfolds
its infinite spectrum of time,
It is where Death
takes its final refuge,
It is its own world,
It is its own hell and
It is its own heaven.
 
It is clear as day and

Last night I slept on moss beneath the budding, blooming trees, alongside the buzzing bees, (and right next to me were car motors whirring, but this did not even bother me because I was in a faerie reverie); I had entered the Wonderland of Possibilities! I could taste magic on the tip of my tongue and spy sparkles where my eyes would wander... I wasn't even in my head this time, not drug misuse nor imagination abuse. My senses were alive, creativity heightened— God's gift of Mother Nature: She who never fails to inspire by my merely sitting upon her flowered bosom and awaiting all that is true

She doesn’t like the garden on the wall, where the flowers are without fragrance. You hammer the alphabet nails into her brain. Her little thumb and index finger waver on a hard pencil. She can’t install her mind in the classroom as her Barbie lies uncared at home. Your refrains die in her ears. Her mom’s lullaby lives in her soul. A naughty classmate pinches her. She wants to play, ‘elephant-and-mahout’ with her dad.

At a corner where two 6-lane highways cross

The barn roof’s gentle
booms shadowing the streaked shoulders
of farmhands
and the cowbells’ hymns, come here, girl,
tramp us home through the chaff,
and the jackdaw figurine atop the peak
beyond the Aeolian stalks. She invited us in
with a dish of unpasteurized milk
left on the porch at seven every evening,
wide-brimmed ranchers running,
and the subsequent calcium crescents
of their nailbeds, huff!
that stood out as they piloted the goats
across the yellow synagogue,
parting each of our salutes

Northern Beach
 
I find her on the northern beach,
all silver-tangled in a net,
I slap away the flies
& bring her home.
 
What is this? says my wife.
She squints her eyes, sniffs.
Half dead, I know by the smell.
Why did you bring it here?
 
I beg my wife
for her forbearance,
caring for a needful thing --
a thing beyond her eyes,
Aemoi,, maiden  of the sea.
 
Let it rest with us and heal.
When it's well, I'll take it back, I say.
Her mouth tracks down,
but she agrees.