Message from the stars—
they say that I’m not alone,
that I’m not alone.

It seems life is long,
the decision to keep walking,
the second guesses.

Am I enlightened,
I walk off into each night,
born new each morning.

All windows and doors—
memory, birds in a tree,
each day flying through.

The moving forward—
crows fly in against pink sky
to roost and then back.

The cold blue morning
breaks into sun before noon,
birds wake up and sing.

Poets are holdouts
for the right, beautiful thing—
it ruins their sleep.

Sun comes in the room,
details of the day emerge,
mystery persists.

Complicated clouds,
the watery veil of spring,
minds still fogged over.

No simple story—
broken beginnings and ends,
lost dreams, recorded.

Withheld salvation,
we’re not meant for this heartbreak,
this separation.

The dreaming inside—
I wish I knew the dreamer,
she’s always hopeful.

Red trees like mountains,
I miss walking among them,
those tallest redwoods.

The simple secret:
feel loneliness and let go—
be thankful and kind.

Protect these people,
Mr. Vonnegut would say,
just trying to be.

Alone, in a dream,
setting the downside aside,
coming out alive.

For the forlorn day,
the bees buzzing in your head—
unholdable joy.

-for Sylvia Plath

Gray squirrels whisper
in the ear of soft lichens
in early morning.