Earlier one of my readers said my poems “opened windows” into who I am. That’s one of the hazards and joys of writing, especially poems. We writers use pieces of life (our own and others) as seeds for our work.

It’s a little frightening to put those little pieces of ourselves in front of readers. But, there’s no time to give into fear. We have stories and poems clamoring to see the light of day.  And, hopefully, readers to read them.




An egret crosses the street in front of my car
its gimlet yellow eyes fix on mine
white body sleek and stately as it moves
I feel it knows me           our common ground
more than the street between us


An army of frogs parade across our windows
nightly    we ponder the logistics of so many
army, colony, knot     whatever they are called


what does it mean that they follow me
in dreams    along telephone lines        they cast
themselves as black notes against
a pearlescent sky    ordinary birds        no ravens
no albatross to make the message plain

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