Wire

 Sonoita, Arizona

An iconic western image, 

a barb’ wire fence

straightaway running,

becoming a pencil thin line

disappearing over the last rolling hill.

Do we wonder 

what is at either end? 

Or are we content to gaze 

into whatever is on the other side— 

the expanse of range grass caressed by breezes;

low, tempting mountains two miles away?

Do we take time to consider life’s vagaries, 

or is there a vague desire to run away,

thinking there freedom is,

unaware of its costs?

But then there are those of us 

who stand at that fence instinctively, 

our hearts aching for what is unspoken 

and unknown but is nothing more 

than how to live a life that is 

authentic, sensuous, and 

entirely beautiful.

Silence

To some of us the world is blue with silence,

because silence is bright yellow, bright green,

and silence is wide and narrow,

full of prayers, full of good and evil.

And following along are the thunderous silences,

like empty sports stadiums, closed race tracks,

and shattering cruelties that surround us in red.

There are curiosities of silence, of the strong, silent type,

the quiet ones, those children who have been too quiet

for too long; the silence of the sulking, depressed, lonely,

contemplative, guilty, puzzler, wanderer, and lover.

There is the silence of love’s hidden work,

the burning silence of sunrise and sunset,

and when the music begins, silence deepens it.

For the troubled: outward silence; inward screams.

Make room for silence; live in the mercy of silence.

When you are in the noise of nature and you hear 

your footsteps and breathing, bow in that holy place.

Let silence be an art we practice.

Musical Notations

I was born in a world of music and abstractions,

sound translated into images that assemble

and disassemble, then reassemble in colorful ways

with new music, old music, the brawling, the serene,

roaming about gently settling here and there like Mozart,

or rampaging through the universe like Beethoven,

pushing me around a bit like Bartok or Nielsen,

astonished by Tchaikovsky and Shostakovich,

tripping me like Charles Ives, to be lifted again

and set on a steady beat by Johann Sebastian Bach.