FootprintsintheWind.com

What parts of myself have I not yet given?

:- Doug.

Read a poem
by each line’s last word
a fine net cast for its scent

:- Doug.

Think of: your self before there
were words; and now returning
to mystery knowing

:- Doug.

The earth, my earth, a ball of rock,
chewed to pieces by weather and invisible
organisms, becoming soil,
sprouting green and all colors,
softly, amazingly

:- Doug.

A thin cloth covers over. It obscures. It is grey, woven mostly out of what we think we know. This grey fabric hides conversation from us.

:- Doug.

Why do I devalue what my hands have done in this life?

:- Doug.

What’s next in your life? What’s done and over?

:- Doug.

When you listen
remember to hear

:- Doug.

Where is the heart?
And what?
It’s all poetry, truly if

:- Doug.

This week what games did you play with your mind?

:- Doug.

What this week was fresh?

:- Doug.

This week, how many layers did you have?

:- Doug.

This week, how did you go beyond the ordinary?

:- Doug.

What this week wondered you?

:- Doug.

What this week brought you up short?

:- Doug.

What this week put you on pause?

:- Doug.

What did you notice this week, as if for the first time?

:- Doug.

The Last Hot Chocolate is conversation, uncovered.

:- Doug.

If deep is dead center
There must be a geography
Of persons
Caves and color-changing mountains
Monday mornings late

:- Doug.

Intimacy is ever having to say you’re scared.

:- Doug.

Life reflects life
a magnifying mirror
not for shaving

:- Doug.

In writing, I can move in a fourth direction. In conversing, so can we.

:- Doug.

Being kind
takes no time
it adds spectra

:- Doug.