The dance of fear, Of not being enough, Stops and starts. The unknown, an Uncharted sea,

Life is a day dream So they say, With every beat Of my heart, The gate to love

Pale blue moon Of August, Peeking behind The clouds, Luminous,

The hummingbirds are buzzing As well as the bees. The Orioles land gingerly On top of the feeder. Cautiously they move down

In the dead Of Winter, I long for Spring. In the rains Of Spring,

My spirit communes with the four directions: To the north are in-laws, our aging mother, her last

Blue star behind tree branch. White cloud passing half moon. Black space surrounds like a

Mr. R. would talk about his deceased brother, he dreamed about him frequently; also of an eagle

Driving through the small towns of America, children of all colors playing in the streets, some with tattered clothes

The many places I have been And countless faces I have seen, The many tales to be told, Into the universe, they unfold. It’s all a passing show,

What is truth? It’s a changing sky, One day clear, The next, cloudy, Holding the blue and grey,

Misty fog floating through bare trees. Cold waves of wind coarse through the woods whistling as they go

If I had all the time In the world To write, What would I say? What would be the most

As I age this last quarter of my life, I am fading into the background. As I let go of roles,

Walking on the beach of long ago, the constant roll of the gulf, it’s sound, like a lullaby.