Burns Street Bistro.


I’ve been trying to wake up

Before the sun every morning

To greet it with open eyes

And moving feet

And a crushed, surrendering heart.  


I’ve been trying to write silent songs

To describe the possibilities

Of where to go, what to see…

What to make with my words and my love–

What mountain to put it all on top of.


I weave and braid the emptiness of

The sky that lacks a moon

But is filled rather with stunning

And inexplicable completeness– 

Richness more velvety than a deep kiss or whisper.


And it all steamy-like floats up

Out of my coffee and into the stars

The hand I felt yesterday is clay or dust

And this spectrum of colors—of glazed emotion—

Is infinite in you and in me and in all that simply




Last night in the middle

Of the rounded night

That’s always rolling

Like the moon that bounced down the hill

…the one that you and I can both see from our windows. 


I dreamt of your dream

And in it I saw outlines and headlines

Of black and white not shapes

but rather people

dancing wandering chanting


Holding hands hungry

 And searching through the dirt

Ravenously for food

Not for their bellies but for their

Meandering musing minds.


And in waxing and waning

They move like 

Snakes through the sand

Sand running through their hands

Holding onto and careening off of

not what is but rather what was–

undulating with the turning

Of this almighty world that simply










One thought on “Burns Street Bistro.

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