I want to be a poet/ for all the wrong reasons/ to see my name in print// to leave a legacy for my son

When we were young/ And in love/ In Nice/ In the courtyard/ Of the small villa/ Under a crisp moon

I was sitting on the station platform when I saw you/ You were standing in the last carriage

The bejeweled night sky/ Waits eagerly/ For a tryst.// The yellow orb/ Peeps smilingly from its lair/ In anticipation

a whale gliding past/ clouds of spray/ in your body/ you recognized it/ when quiet/ a forest of pressure

A big thing spins/ in space. A huge/ object’s gravity/ pulls on debris/ beyond Neptune./ This seems exotic

The maple's red leaves/ lick the fumbling wind/ and break their bindings.// I, too, want flight, the desire

Captured within the web of dreams/ Nothing is as it seems// Waken from the gates of sleep/ Do my eyes

Floating on my back,/ the current becomes a compass,/ and guides my course,/ My mind is calmed as

I was born when a fox coughed/ shattering sunlight/ and the forest spilled open.// I emerged from a slash

floating curls of clouds/ move like impermanent waves/ stretched out on a fan/ ink darkens petals

In the skillful hands and feet/ of the six-foot tall teen,/ the Artic Cat roars and screeches/ like a ferocious

I’m feeling better/ I no longer hear your voice/ in the night/ I only hear your whistle/ in dancing trees

Because where/ we are or yet/ to get to/ that I can’t/ quite/ place the/ here between/ the denial or/ acceptance

at the river/ my fallen cottonwood sits in the same place as always/ stuck in the sand/ like an old grey bone

In the quiet,/ My soul dances,/ Guided by the kind candle flame,/ All joy and peace within me,/ All doubt

The boat moved closer to the shore./ I spied my grandmother long past and much loved./ Sitting in a chair.

An ivory moon/ Draws up the birdsong,/ Steeping the rain-rich air/ In music, and/ Water slicks the asphalt

We danced like Disney’s waltzing flowers/ ignoring perfect time, enjoying the moment,/ our feet seemed

Take the worlds you find/ - verses on vanillin pages/ - scrolls of pixels on screens/ Shake them up, hard.