The Beach

At the beach,
I dig my toes
into the sand
of time,
resting upon
a mosaic of grains,
multicolored like memories
of past and future,
a magic carpet,
where I lie
in a reverie.

A fragrance lingers
in the salty air.
The scent of your skin
upon mine.
I am a supplicant
before this eternal mystery.

I wait
for you
to take me
like the tide.

Like the Falling Snow

One November night

I drove up the steep slope

of the 4th of July Pass;

plowed through sheets of fresh snow,

all starry white, glazed with sparkling frost,

headed towards Coeur D’Alene,

towards home.


You were lying next to me,

your breath rising and falling in my ears,

fogging the windshield,

your body slack with sleep.


I sank into the heated leather seat of my Jetta,

blared the defroster,

listened to Habib Koite softly crooning,

as my heart stretched

over all of I 90,

expansive and wide and wild as Montana,

clenching and breaking with too much love for you,

knowing that soon

you would leave.


Yet that moment was silent

and serene

like the falling snow.