Category Archives: The Prologue

Dear Words

… Reverberating on my eardrum’s skin you come in like a finger on a guitar string. Sound sends me quivering. Some places hands can’t go. You touch the soul. But I’m not saying hands can’t talk or what is meant can’t be felt. Once I […]

At the Grave of Walt Whitman

… I was in Philadelphia and crossed the bridge to Camden. “I’m satisfied,” I said. “There’s grass growing here and I no longer care what anyone might think of me or what the future holds or when and if comes money.” I heard you speak, […]

For John Keats: This Living Hand

… I think that I’m a candle whose flame stays round the wick whether set in one place or carried never wavering an inch from where I’ve always been. I hold out my hand like you did. When I’m happy and look at it it’s […]


… a mouth sewn shut can still make a sound … … … … … … … … ……words are birds …eye is sky … … … I WRITE THE WORD I write the word: I am behind it You read the word: you are […]

I write the word: I am behind it

… I write the word: I am behind it You read the word: you are before it We make a oneness, a reflection two separate moments come together But the word is still between us Some day there’ll be no words Some day we’ll simply […]

windskin for Yoko Ono

… wind isn’t skin wind touches skin wind … … … … I loved Yoko Ono before John Lennon did. I read about her in the school library in 1965 in a Time magazine waiting for the elementary school bus to take me home (I […]


… Sonnet 56 Love comes when least expected and love comes like the rain blowing naked over us making us all wet. Love never makes a fuss. As I grow old, love stays forever young returning like the sun or moon, the truth that I’ve […]