​Art doesn’t change the ending. It doesn’t let you lose yourself that way - the opposite really; it calls you from the darkness into the glaring, unforgiving light

​All my life, I’ve waited for signs. Like with art, like with everything, I’ve waited for things to fall into place and to feel right, to feel like the universe had given me its permission and its blessing.

"Might we pause on our way to everywhere we are rushing off to and hear something in the air, old or new, that would help us?"

Some days     reviewing everything from brain's
     balcony
                      filigree of thinking    a calm comes in
     you can't fix the whole street     change the city
     or the world
                      but clearing bits of rubbish possible

                                                          moving one stone

                  from Time's Low Note

down by the Charles River we will go
when daylight shines. I wish I had known you,
Longfellow, but truly I did, as a small reader
with a book cracked wide, speaking aloud
on the old wooden stairs of my grandparents' home,
saying your words, between the daylight
and the dark, swinging them like small lanterns

     from ​Longfellow's Bed

I write her back
     Slowly      slow
Clean one drawer
     Arrange words on a page
Let them find one another
     Find you
Trust they might know something
     You aren't living the whole thing
     At once

That's what a minute     said to an hour
Without me     you are nothing

​     from To Manage

The glory in the doing. The breath of the doing.
Sometimes the simplest move kept fears from
fragmenting into no energy at all, or sorrow from
multiplying, or sorrow from being the only person
living in the house.
     from Loving Working

To live with what we are given-
Graciously, as if our windows open wide as
     our neighbors',
as if there weren't an insult at every turn.
How did you do that
​               from Break the Worry Cocoon