To say

I live the highest life

would not be far off course

for I sail

to my own wind–

it turns the sails

as I do.

And yet

I know the voices in your head

can lead you off track

as your own voice sinks


to a lost narrative–

until you finally rise up

to the brink.


open sky

as a simile would say


is ours”

for “I” cannot exist

without “us”

and “eternity”

is filled with the eternal breath

of strangers

that are nevertheless


and to imagine a life

without fear

is to see a real heaven,

with love,

spilling over the sides.

December 1, 2014


I remember

the first time I knew

I had a voice.


The high school cafeteria,

the salty pizza–the salted pretzels

hanging in the air

as my story concludes,

“And I laid there

until the police showed up,”

To my house? My body


by laughter I concocted


how can this be?


I wash down the salt

with some OJ and try to remember

the last time I told a story

and heard it–

like the cop over my head

cracked open spilling blood

onto the basement floor.


Now it’s my friends

at this round table laughing

their way to my insides,

to the heart that thought

not even a phone call

to the local hospital could be


to be heard from across town,

across the street,

across the table


I meet eyes

filled with nature’s shadows

giving me a look of acceptance

into how these words

can be mine,


by sixteen year old girls

wondering what to have

for lunch the next day.


October 18, 2014