occupy the space you have today, set aside

the space God gives you, bids you take

and shut the door, turn off the lights, ignore

the intruding voice of all you lack, must have

for one whole day believe—in this time and place—

you have all you need, say it loud enough to hear

in a day defined by lack: without verbs take it back

Sundance Canyon


Canyon whispers run through a solitary walk

along the river leading away from Banff townsite

here, in the middle of June

I am not (like them) made of stone

I do not live like one of these trees

I am more than the breath of wind—

closer (I am) to water bordering light

flashing past all one can see, or know…




Complex Designs

I admit, now and then,

to letting disappointment glisten

like dew on my temples

over “the one that got away”

—a web of singular drops of water

reveal complex attempts to secure a meal

the instinct of a spider betrayed—

a famished, unrepentant creature,

I hold no loss too small to regret.