In search of story


November 23.20: Coping

Fear is served,

heaped, cold, on unseen platter

where empty table

speaks to us.

There was picnic once,

soda fizz

and bright mustard,

where now only air

teasing whispers from

dry grass.

In barren quiet

the words come:

what if I’m the only one?



In this country, dear reader, we enter Thanksgiving week torn. No: shredded. How do we celebrate isolation and dread? If we try to “count our blessings,” how are we not trivializing the losses among us?


More thanks to photographer S.W. Berg for this poignant image.



Disconnections: December 13.18


An obvious moral is corny

an insult, trite and hacked;

the reader need not be assailed

with life is a balancing act.

Nonetheless, Nature advises

with many a silent word;

I’m sure there’s admonition

which oughtn’t go unheard.

Is it only balance

mutely blatant above

or does it speak of deadwood

I need to let go of?



More thanks to photographer S.W. Berg.




Connections: September 5.16

2016-08 - 41 - Purple flowersIn the park

in the season of no name

greens waver

the high grass

restless, uncertain


as a wistful air plays

against its parchment edges


a sepia wash hovers

over the letting-go


here and there

a regal smear

of purple.

More thanks to the S.W. Berg Photo Archives.