Swimming Wishes

On mornings crisp with new
Grass glazed with frozen dew
Atop the concrete hill,
Buildings bricked and still

Warm chlorine trips my thoughts
Stopping with sharp recognition
I daydream of white swim caps,
Slow diving with dolphin-precision


Lots of rain, somewhere in Minneapolis.


Together, we forgive the rind
with a sharpened knife

You split with force
the egg-shaped squash

Whose entrails I spoon
onto the butcher’s block

Spreading like an orange
net, loaded with teardrop seeds

The belly of our oven is
amber-glowing, ready

First summer in a seaport city

Posing as a coastal surprise
Blooms in abundance in summertime
Sweet pink roses climb on green branches
Tender pale buds that yearn for vases

And the unsuspecting other-surprise
Left by a canine, who just had to go
Where I would plant my sandal
When reaching for a few blooms of my own


Wild Roses in Kirkland, Seattle



Urban climbing up
concrete hills, what
season is it anyway?

Four straight days
of light-flooded windows
spark new leaves
on the basil plant.

I said it many times:
I need a bigger sky,
larger moon-stage,
vast and brooding.

On that shallow shore
just north of here: why
are the boats left
floating free all night?

What small city sparkles
to the east? Why can’t
I keep the ocean’s west
location ever straight?

And can I keep this
golden fondness with
me past autumn?


With freckled arms
I search the floor for
affirmation, posing this way
and that.

In the quiet stillness of
Sunday morning yoga,
feelings pour from my
unquiet mind.

Your biggest fear
is you, it says.

A madness I’ve understood
for un-still-able moments,
there and gone.

That you won’t be
who you want you
to be, it says.

That acceptance will
flee or be forgotten,
realized as an

light light light

Juanita Beach, Kirkland | WA