Homeness/Grace

Homeness

And there is one place, a small space
that deserves the name home.
Here: you, me
the homeness of us.

Grace

On days when:
my pants are too short
my feet are too big
I have all the wrong words


I think of the beauty of imperfection.

Yin I & II

Yin I

I am a white moon
cold, suspended in black
dreaming of the dawn.

There are sad stories
hidden in my bones, my blood
now, will you listen?

Yin II

I'm all
off-balance, out of sync
the cold moon side of me taking over

I'm so
incomplete, empty-handed
my feet stepping just out of rhythm

It's very
dangerous, peculiar
how dark, how dizzying the world is
when you are gone
I'm afraid

Thanksgiving Day/The Question

Thanksgiving Day

It smells like autumn
down by the corner store
I linger just long enough
to miss home.

The Question

And the question, no--the Question is:
What nonchalant adventures
what lazy, meaningful afternoons
what wild conversations
what poignant moments
what is IT, really, that everyone else is so engaged in, while I flit about, gripping my to-do lists, my comfort, my pen, with white-knuckled angst?

What door should I be knocking on? Where is Inside? Where is everyone else, and what on earth are they doing?