I’m trusting you to make sense of all this
To put a rhythm to what you see

That’s my gift to you

Find your voice
Your meaning
Keep the hope that all will come alive

That’s your gift to me

Such steps will be as dancing
Call it collaboration


could I walk backward
I would walk backward
would I erase you
I could erase you
close my eyes
close my eyes

where are the words
here are the words
here is my love
where is your love
close my heart
close my heart

The Recounting

Maybe your next step will be your last, but you don’t “get” to know beforehand. And instinct is absent.

The floor under your feet will tell you after the fact whether it was ever, at all, true.

And truth, it has been queried, “What is truth,” but I ask you, what is trust? What is trust?

Trust, kept buoyed by hope, took forever to fall away, and these believing eyes with it.

Expectation is only of the coming eve’ and the promise of exasperated sleep, and I praised it more than once.

One morning revealed the night had stolen the vestiges of trust, breaking free all that hope bound.

The only evidence of either, some sense of un-nameable shock. Something’d been there, but what?

Then life’s replaying of horror: The all that was and the all that’s gone. Each breath, each day, each night.


All the noise, the propaganda

The truthless, loveless bombs

Only the aftermath to deal with

Each season is Winter again

Yesterday is unrecognizable

Today is unbearable

Tomorrow, there’s no one to trust

Not even the flowers

In full bloom one day

Content to take their leave the next

Emerge Again

To you, girl

Sister to Sister

My sole and loving admonition

If there be trust, if there be hope

It will be found in your eyes

Your eyes

Where they gaze

How they see

And the choosings they reflect upon

I make much of words with you

Made-up words, maybe

But your eyes, I know well

I know the Who you believed in

And still believe

In Your eyes

Within Your grasp

As the narcissi beneath the freeze

There be reason for trust and hope