• Dr. Williams in 2020

    The Green T-Shirt I’d only worn once In what is now a profile Picture on all social media There it was Not all that important Where it had always been So beloved and simple Freshly laundered, folded And then before I wear again, Gone Like any favorite Anything I never knew I wanted

  • Garden Prayer

    mantis on our garden patio always praying thank you dear green one for your humble example

  • Ligatures

    These mops don’t smell too good no matter how many ways you soak Them, frayed and rattled like the ends of torn tendons, spliced especially So the silken ligatures slowly dissolve into flesh, absorbed like a child Takes everything as possible until proven otherwise, stories that evoke Senses of place in young imaginations are impatient seeds of epics, fully Flowered when the sun burns the cultivated ground, a harvest reconciled To our contentment, we can all agree on a balance, what should be is not What shouldn’t, and should objections open another cavity into our chest, Beasts will make this hole a home, leave bones of prey and lovers, drawings…

  • The Cleaning

    Work continues the same everywhere Beginning again in the early evenings Into the nights and mornings as quietly Changed into white clothes we wear Surface layers of dust that air brings Are wiped again until the cloth is slightly Shaded where fingertips polished the hue From flesh to cloth a mild vinegar scented Astringent of sorts, the final mortal flavor Held to thirsty lips, an ancient chiseled statue Cleanses daily filth from pure and repented Fixtures that furnish the house of our Savior

  • Carrier Wave

    The music, don’t worry, carries away in a shopping basket, Frozen peas for a pillow, cool and soft, warm and sweet. Words and sounds decay through the air we breathe a dozen Breaths per minute, inhale, exhale, difficult as the task it Has become, to the point of exhaustion as we merely complete A sentence, something we’ve done so thoughtlessly–those inch- Long phrases never measuring up or down or any direction we Let our subjects wander. Most years we never saw coming until Here upon us, life’s bellows, or billows, squeezed Smitty’s Little accordion. One note only hissing at wood, a ship, a tree. The wind fills our solidly trimmed…

  • The Gyre

    Notions are hardly worth their whimsy, rising as oblong pockets from Feathered beds below the glassy sheet of calm.  Nature turned her head Away while coughing, politely sparing us the lurches and trauma here As distant to one place as to another. No state or nation or kingdom Within the sound of our still ocean cradle, resting our feet instead Along the dark-shored island, floating but not drifting, our deepest fear On its way to greet us. But that’s only half of it. The others continue Spreading the dullest sunshine of hope from beach to dotted beach, Solvents disbursing the beads of lives lived before fines imposed Language flowering from…

  • The Tools

    at this point the camera is for preparation and research, harvesting indications and hints for when the real work begins, the spiritual creation before the cast dries allowing changes, integral layers of the kinds of besmirch one should expect from centuries waiting for the heel against our soft pile, carpeting streets with chips, fries and thumbtacks, the kind you hammer in, the kind birds use for eating and building nests, their bowls for eggs and hatching young wet wings of open mouths always spreading to welcome seed, a frequent parental purge of the morning’s worm and fur of meatless spider legs, the soups and songs that weave minutes into days…