high off hope

can hope fill us up enough?


like helium under rib cage

levitating over sharp shards

only nicking our feet

instead of grand gashes?

gliding us like great glass walkers

who never press feet firmly

or flatten feet aptly

in pursuit of mystic magic?


I have high arches

could never get my gait steady

to do such tricks.

I need the lift off

from weightless gases

swallowed in wander and want

from promises that swirl and swill

in my underbelly of understanding.


I would much rather live my life

in bare touch of the earth –

toes tipped up

heels hovering with hope –

than dragging my feet,

shredding my soles on the

broken pieces

bound to come.

the storyteller

if you bother


to stop in your assumptions

the storyline told

by wide brimmed storyteller

gathering the children

in your head

telling of tales

the same tall tales

each of us listens

from his moving mouth

day in

day out

but when we turn our backs

in the circle round 

and look over the field of wildflowers

behind us all this time

we learn

we find

we can run free

into hazel meadows

when we stop

listening in our heads

to hear our hearts