tentative poems

I am comfortably a lover of poetry, not a poet. These brief lines come from a tentative place in me that longs to expand.

Morning Mountains

The mountains hold an emptiness, and the morning.
I look. I cannot capture it.
I surrender and
fall into it.
I was already



Present moment brims -
wonder splays, blossoms adorn
laden tree branches,

unfold toward sunlight,
incense mystery I
gratefully receive.


Lexington Road, April 29th

man twirls ninja bow-staff in secret
dances under deep green canopy's quiet
on expansive seminary grounds



What is it?
Filtered light through membrane
walls traced with thin veins.
Spinning   spinning   spinning
Large eyes mirror mine -
Butterfly wings -
Deep water -
tilt into space-time
I cannot yet penetrate
the edge of knowing.



Mess of lavender
Perfumes the clear morning light
That wakens my heart.