The moment when one thing turns into another is the most beautiful moment.
-Vic Muniz

The trouble is, you think you have time.
-Buddha

The Descent of Dreams

As a child, he dreamed of flying.
As a teen, he dreamed of sex.
In his prime, he dreamed of buying.
At the end…it’s more complex.

Death With Dreams

I am death with dreams
a wolf, a fox, a vixen
I am sharp and sensitive
tuned to subtle things
I am death with dreams
wounded and scarred
I gambol in the streets
and dine with kings
I am death with dreams
I feel good and perfect
cooling when I’m hot
preening my wings
I am death with dreams

In Hawaii

Respect of land and sea
orients and leads the way
in Hawaii.

Paradise is illusory
if you buy the framed display
in Hawaii.

Aloha is a guarantee
Like your ‘ohana or a lei
in Hawaii.

The cost of living decently
is more than most can pay
in Hawaii.

Culture and community
open doors and help you stay
in Hawaii.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before.
– Edgar Allan Poe

All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.
– J. R. R. Tolkien

A New Byzantium

What do the mountains above the clouds do?
What Olympic secrets do they there shroud to
Hide from us our insignificance
And keep us in delightful ignorance?

What do the oceans conceal in the deep?
What clues to greatness do they there keep
Safe from our obtuse conjecture
Among fish and ancient architecture?

And what do the stars whisper at night?
What tales do they tell with shimmering light
Of artists and dreamers and poets to come
Who will fashion a new Byzantium?

The Windfall Sleep

Her crying wakes me at 3 a.m.,
and I walk the dark hall blind
on bloodless limbs and memory.
The gossip of loose boards
gathers in my footsteps,
and that old hardwood floor
tells the rambling tale of sleepy trips
in socked feet
and drowsy midnight promises.

When I enter her make-believe world,
the trumpet drops
from her wind-scoured lips,
the devils dissolve,
the fairies fly
for their lakes and hills and islands,
and her quick smile squeezes out
the last blue note of a gasp
and a salty thimble of tears.

There, riddled in the half-light,
stands my pilgrim daughter,
nearly three years old,
her green soul spun from my core
and dipped neck-deep
in the shouting uncorked bottle
of all I say and do.

Her tiny feet
turn out the rhythm of my years
in a ten-toed living pulse
that pours strength
into this father’s form of mine.

I sweep the heedless rush
of long brown hair
from her merciful eyes,
fold her into place with a magic sprig
of yarrow and yellow chamomile
to hold the imps at bay,
and rocking quietly, wait, wait
for the windfall sleep.

Clouds come floating into my life, no longer to carry rain or usher storm, but to add color to my sunset sky.
– Rabindranath Tagore