Lately, a sadness pervades, I mourn for youth, perhaps passion of younger days. With age, some of that passion

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

Inspiration is in the falling of rain, the soft coo of birds in late afternoon, the sinking of the

This is the America I know: A sea of white, black, red, yellow And brown faces, Strong minds and voices Raised to the sun,

The chimes outside the pottery studio ring like a temple bell, calling the faithful to honor,

The buck in the garden Chewing up hard earned Labor, His antlers raise, His ears perk up, as

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

White heron skidding the blue, grey water, of the bay. How free and easy you make it look,

Last night I dreamt that I floated above the clouds, above the earth and my heart

When I first heard “The Blackbird,” In the middle Of night, I was just thirteen.

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

Harsh reality smacks like a slap of cold wind. Sometimes I’m a tough sailor, at the helm,

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

Silver sliver of the moon With the bright star of Venus Trailing behind. Moonbeams casting light On the waves,