Some of us will be statistics,
counted among the thousands
who succumbed;
no splashy send-off,
flower-strewn casket or
weeping mourners.
                                    Mother Teresa
died just a day before...

When your arms, holding, hurt, O God,
  all full of painful cactus spines,
temptation sees you as our foe.
  Foes abound, without a doubt...
foes that you cannot abide--
  fear and cruelty, hearts of stone.

But you were pierced with spines
  that caused your sacred heart to bleed
for...

I can still see bromeliads growing
  from behind the glass, stalks projecting,
reaching, golden crowns lifting.

And I can see wisteria blooming,
  hanging fragrant purple heads,
mourning in the morning light. 

Birdsong penetrates my walled-off ears,
  and hummingbirds and...

I had one uncomfortable moment when my cousins were visiting me.  Even growing up in the same extended family, we have very different attitudes about some things.  One of those “bones of contention” involves social media.  Other than my blog, I don’t participate...

“You make your path by
walking it--reading
a virgin track for others
to follow--through meadow,
up hill, into friendship....

...

A mongoose slinks and darts away
As if at hide and seek he plays;
He sneaks across the carpet green.
His hope?  That he will not be seen.
What causes such timidity?
Who does he fear?  Could it be me?
Does he dread his own compulsions
Or fear causing vile revulsions?
No matter wherefores or the...

She reaches arms out,
little spindles, spokes
of a botanical wheel--
tentacles of light
about to explode
into floral fireworks.

In pre-profusion,
mystery yet unfurled,
she's overlooked,
ignored; no one cares
what she might be,
until one day she
bursts forth, emanation
white and star-like,
and then someone
...

                  “I would give an arm
          and a leg," she said, and then
               one day they were gone.

                 ...

A worried world won’t let the weary rest;
amid the clamorous din, beleaguered kneel,
begging for crumbs at the communal feast,
like hungry dogs scrounging for a meal,
and broken down, they long for sweet release,
balm of Gilead poured on beaten backs.

The rock at the base of the tree cries...

Whatever walked ahead of me
  Left paw prints in the snow
And wild or domesticated,
  I will not, do not know. 

I think a squirrel or otter may
  Have passed this way before,
And humans with their canine friends
  Have passed this way before,

A bunny may have hopped this way,
...