we wait for the rain to fall

(same rain that falls over




your hair of white petals & fingers of roots--

the water softly washing away


at night the dreams of you & I(roots grown into blossoms)together

roots of earth & rain

     sustaining 1000 secrets





chasing white lines like memory

all the world grows mad

but my homecoming


Home(coming to you) 

your breath recreates me



living means breadtied--uncertain

yet facing aouth

a prayer,blink away

my homecoming


Home(coming to you) 

cavern-empty eyes

filled with mine


then kiss---- 




Atlanta never looked so pretty as on a holiday

Peach fuzz sun setting ahead(west on my mind)


Sear marks across a tender July sky

Highway-smells of propane and sulfur


America is happy tonight

Its roaring laughter erupts like fireworks


I follow that giant curling finger

Over foothills and around white lines towards Tennessee

weeping savannah


city of ruins


broken bones


history noosed

spanish scent of death

all but forgone


(women)thick accent

pinned to the breast



weeping savannah

do not weep

for me


repressed (something


archeological memory


ancient cross

rasp of splintered



cast iron

gates--old as



weeping savannah

do not weep

for me


i have seen

both ends of



The Sea

Rolling & purring & crashing so

fierce waves smash upon the lazy east coast

And ah, the sea! The beautifully ancient & haunting sea! 

Filled with washed up love & ship-wrecked dreams


Old man paces, folded arms behind his back

& steadies himself from a wave's swift crash

We all grow old, we all grow frail

I've seen the youth of my life set sail


But so yet the sea, wild & wide & mysterious sea! 

Contains something greater than all of humanity

Contains maybe god itself

(or maybe we contain god ourselves) 


Old man falls from the swift, evil tide

Lands on the sand beneath his left side

Lands on solid ground

(or maybe this is hollowed ground) 


All of the chatter of the birds & the waves

Cover sacred silence where a greater destiny is laid

Laid pinned upon its back

(or maybe we are pinned too) 


Pinned to our restlessness, almost as the sea

Ah, the sea, the sea--purring brother to you and me! 

Surfacing both pleasure & pain upon its silver caps

Reminding us all of the constant, the changing, the past


(Tybee Island, GA)

(Tybee Island, GA)

Time in Mississippi

Down here time moves more slowly.


Delta: raw body of America, washed up through veins of the beloved Mississippi River.

At dusk the darkness comes alive with sounds of foreign creatures. They each have an attitude mocking the laughing south. 


The lullaby of a slow-moving train, the southern draw of front porch folks, the ascension of the lazy sun.


At daybreak the warm, thick air wakes you by striking you clean across the face; exotic smells of earth and clay and water.

Gulf Coast: glass magnolia leaves follow you south and then transform into another vastly different terrain.


Time stops at this edge of the country, where waves and highway isolate the past in the present from the rest of the world.