Last Day in Scotland

You left so much undone. 
The closest you got to the castle
was a Royal Mile tee-shirt shop.
Some essential Scottish flavor 
went untasted because you didn't 
make time for the whisky tour. 
And the Writer's Museum. Wasn't that 
supposed to be your first stop?
Hell, you couldn't even make it 
out of Edinburgh. Now all you have 
is one thin day to get it right.
You hold your latte as if awaiting 
benediction. 

But who's to say 
you aren't (mmm that milky warmth 
is good) receiving it right now? 
The window of the rented flat 
is open to the morning. Rain 
drifts in. Hello. Chants and drumbeats 
from the cobbled street's parade
alight like birds. Good morning. 
What is it you should do? 
What is it you should ever do?
Get up. Go out the door. Receive 
the day in friendship. A voice
is calling you. She says let's go.

Riding a Bicycle in a Suit of Armor

Riding a bicycle in a suit of armor
is still riding, I tell myself, and better
than some other pursuits -- like climbing
and surfing and love -- that I abandoned 
after simple slips submerged me 
in forces I could not control. 
Now my life is people passing on the left. 
I do not mind. I do not mind. I ...
I keep my helmet visor down and swelter 
in this metal. But I'm safe if I should fall.

Her Trip's

Woman on a meandering errand 
of her own delighted devising 
falls on her face in the ordinary
and (you'd think) serendipitizing-

ly uncovers the keys to a kingdom. 
Her awe erupts as oohs and aahs and jeezes
over all the odds and ends now she somehow 
sees and, most surprisingly, seizes. 

Kinetic electric urges surge frenetic and emerge,
submerge, and merge kaleidoscopic. She believes!
And laughing she gives in dives in thrives on and 
lives on in scintilla merely she perceives.

Watch her now with wonder while she ascends 
her whorling vortex dream in hops and skips.
Blown kisses float back down to you from 
the particle-beam stream that her trip's.

The New World

Look there, Love, 
across the starboard rail

a new world rises 
nascent from the sea,

arches its green spine, 
and belches howls

up to the gods. 
The old ones have foretold

a refuge here from thirst, 
a respite here from doubt. 
They have foretold 

a gentle soil

rich for growing 
orchards, children, us.

As we glide these 
last few meters into

shore, we must remember 
everything they said: 
"It is a place 
that will hurl hail

from metal skies, 
and crack and buckle underfoot. 
The land will leap at you 
with teeth, and seethe 
irascible with ice.

Be quick! Be lithe! Revise 
your maps, revise again — 
no one's been exactly here.

The land will change 
and we will change.

There now we have landed. 
Here we go.

The Metric System

Commence, if you must, 
the conversion
of tulips to Celsius,
anger to kilometers,
and magenta to something
ending in zero.
But pray keep the pint
to remind us we're no gods.
We are human and we thirst, 
both for perfection 
and for beer.

Strangers Trying to Pass Each Other in a Supermarket Aisle

I step left. You step right.
We mirror.

I step right. You step left. 
We fluster.

Hop left. Hop right. 
Hmm. 

Head bob. Hand clap.
Hip shake. Finger snap.

Caught here strangers 
in this life, 
we dance.

Rebel Crow

He flouts the stealth 
God dressed him for
and lights instead
on noontime streets
to praise all things 
ripped open and abandoned. 
Rinds and peels and nutshells.
There's so much sustenance 
we so-called pious miss.
It's hard work seeing plenty. 
You can hear it in his voice.

Your Story

The great stone
of your story,
the one about
where you're going,
gets so heavy sometimes
that the tone
you've gained
from holding it aloft
so others could see
its weight
and your flexing
seems not worth
the way it's made
your circumambulations
smaller and you
too stiff
to let it go
let alone help others
drop theirs.

Gratitude

The definition 
of gratitude
includes the phrase 
"a desire to do 
something in return." 
I am overwhelmed 
by this desire.
But what can I 
give you in return?
You asked me 
if I would 
take care of you.
Yes, if taking care 
means to urge us 
both toward 
our best selves. 
I don't know  
if this is gratitude, 
which begins with 
"the quality 
of being thankful,"
or just a hunger 
to share each rare
and vivid day
with you, a quality 
I'm grateful to you for,
but one surpassing
definition.

On the Street Outside the Coffee Shop

When the accident happened,

the hurt person started giving gifts.

The thief forgot his blueprints

and ran into the street.

The young man dropped his politics

to simply do what must be done.

The executive sobbed

and held a stranger in his grief.

The waitress, turned against the rush

and calmly dialed for help.

The schoolgirl directed traffic

almost without weeping.

The athlete folded his jacket

into a pillow for the injured one.

The former alcoholic, who understood,

gave compassion to the driver.

The businesswoman forgot self-hatred,

kneeled to the child, and held

us all in her beautiful arms.

Some Uttered Things Unjinx

Some uttered things unjinx
if given sufficient audacity. 
The child gets home safe. 
Your brother sobers up. 
Love stays. Or, a day 
you say will be amazing is 
because you note each 
mote of it: the scent 
of honeysuckle; the music 
of traffic dancing beachward;
the taste of tortilla-chip dust 
on your fingertips. You say
the world will be remarkable
and your presence makes it so.

Fingertips

I believe that in your last lucid moments

time shed its partitions and you felt

Mother's fingertips, beginning where yours

left off, more intensely and immediately

than you'd felt anything since that last

moment before you were born and learned

there was anything except at-one-ment.

Grace

This will always be

the year we found grace,

or rather, grace

found us -- sneaking up

on all fours, howling

deep down the catacombs

of the early morning,

giggling toward us

on Charlie Chaplin legs,

bloodying fresh teeth

on the bathroom tile,

shoving our faces away

with soft arms, cozying

into our shoulders,

our bellies, and into muscles

and bones so far

that without it we nursed

a physical ache.

This grace pokes

fierce fingers into our mouths,

rattles the lids of jelly jars,

lets chocolate melt

in its fist, eats the leaves

of houseplants, splashes water,

rubs its wet belly, pees

on the floor, and is so happy

to see us it tries to turn itself

inside out. It bids us love

one another with abandon

through the ordinary divinity

of every day.

The 6-Year-Old Insists You Invent Something

Dad, can you give me a rocket push?

I don't know what a rocket push is

but I feel if I don't create it now

something necessary will be lost.

So I invent one (I can't tell you 

how, you have to make your own) 

and it flings us both upward

out past all this gravity.

tickticktick

So 
many 
sins
so 
little 
time.

Why People Plummet

The terminal

velocity

of the body

tops pain's

which is why

people plummet.

Severed by speed

from thought

they finally fall

out of time

(it's just like

ascension)

and into

immensity.

Folding a Blanket With My Young Son

Look,

butterfly wings

I say, folding

and unfolding

the corners

of the blanket.

A blanket --

what possibility!

A tortilla

to roll him in,

a meadow

for living-room

picnics,

a sail

pulling us

to Alexandria.

A cloud. An igloo. A ghost.

A page

from a story

unfolding.