Whispers of Things I Don’t Understand I cruise hours of the night wondering what it means to be human, to…
Because We Are Nomads What traveler would dare to tell her tale – even in her middle years, pausing as…
The Farmhouse I inherit browns and greens. I wait for someone to say it’s all in the past now so…
Winter’s Lonely Witness I like to be left alone to sort I begin with the domain of real things …
My Grandfather's Last Supper It was vintage Da Vinci, Jesus and disciples making blessings at their long table hung over…
Drenched in Spindrift Spindrift saturates my bones. Country night comes velvet black. Ebb tide sings my lullaby, atonal and aleatoric,…
Camp David The kitchen floor awash in clothes While flies library whisper around the sink. There is a hole the…
Bolshoi Ballet Tours the West: A Cold War Poem The word “defection” floats in the air. Sotto voce. The ability…