The thunder rumbles in the distance.
The sky gets dark, we all huddle in.
Except for one.
She ventures out into the storm, because she knows
You have to get rained on
To be clean.
Dear God
1.
I’ve spent a lot of time
Mostly alone.
I’ve sat in a lot of parks
With a lot of books
And a lot of strangers.
I’ve walked a lot of streets
In a lot of shoes
On a lot of sidewalks
I’ve spent a lot of time
Looking to the sky
Tipping my chin
drinking from the clouds
Lots of times.
It never gets old.
2.
Blessed is the woman
Who sees God in the sun.
Blessed be the girl
Who sees God in grayness.
Blessed is the soul
Who sees God behind closed eyes
Shut doors
In the rain.
Blessed is the soul
Who wants no proof
Only God.
3.
Dear God
I feel like I know you
At long last.
I see you when I wake up
A quilt draped over the Earth
You’re in the rays of sun
That filter through the clouds
On the greyest day
You sit in the space between
Atoms
People
Thoughts
You fill us up
With grace and love.
I trust you.
Please guide me.
Hope
Hope is a thing
That’s not got a lot
To do
With feathers.
Hope squats in dark corners
Strikes a match
Holds heat within you.
Hope sticks like a barb
Unable to let go
But why does it hold on?
For Life
On this day
I could ask for anything.
I could ask for love,
For peace,
For light.
Instead, I sit on my chair
And give thanks
For life.
Osaka Impressions
It had been forty years since I had seen a cigarette vending machine.
It sat on the street with the other automats,
outside a shop with narrow stairs,
in a neighborhood of close-cropped pines,
sliding partitions between tatami floors,
claustrophobic fiberglass baths,
and heated-seat high-tech toilets.
A short walk further on, workers in smart dark uniforms waved off
precisely-timed trains packed with salarymen and shoppers
from covered arcades of overbright fake food,
costly dishware, clothes, cosmetics,
all still mesmerized by neon and flashing lights.
Unsettled
We are imperfect friends, you and I—
each occasionally disrupting the other’s plans,
sources of periodic irritation and frequent bewilderment.
I did not imagine that our long-anticipated parting would discomfit me so.
I am scared.
I had thought about your leaving in abstract terms,
but now we know the day.
You are busy tidying, tying up loose ends,
meeting people for what could be the last time,
expressing grave thanks.
Insomnia lurks near my bed.
It waits for me to conclude my evening ritual
and compose myself for sleep.
Then, it settles in beside me,
all sharp elbows and stage whispers,
filling the space and hours with worry
about how my life will look alone.
Fishbowl
A red silk goldfish swims at the window
overlooking our central roundabout
filled with wandering white rental cars
and gurgling island buses that sink
to rest at several transfer stops.
Schools of pedestrians flash
green bottles and shiny bags
as they glide along the sidewalks.
Delivery motorbikes dart through
the traffic and the crowds.
Old men slowly pick up litter from
among the rocks and beneath the trees
undulating with the traffic current.
Fusion
The pitted date squeezed
between mismatched pecan halves
dares the nut meats to blunt
its desert sweetness.
Modern Poets Magazine 