Monday, February 25, 1980


The wind from a passing car
catches the edges of a newspaper
lying by the side of the road
and lifts it up like a startled cat.

Sunday, February 24, 1980


Light drips from the sky
at Goat Rock, lips of dawn fog
gobble up the sky.


Thursday, February 21, 1980

3 FRAGMENTS, CPITS freewrites

I am a plant walking
along the sunset
my leaves rain
clouds on the ocean

i send roots down
into rocks
they split apart
and I seek light

at the end of my roots
I feel light
it is soft and warm
like guava jelly

My tendrils pluck stars
from the sky
they ignite as I bring them in

Meteor showers
bathe me
as stellar dust
settles in,


I roll like a velvet green ocean
across the valleys and hills
the open spaces between fields
In the morning I am warmed by the east
at noon I grow toward the sub
as it shows me how
As the sun sets and the dew collects
on myt blades, sheep
graze on me, they pull
my edges up like a moveable feast.


I wish I could show you
the beating of my heart
the stirring of breath
the pulsing of blood
through the capillaries
veins and arteries
Could you see the heat
rising from my body
and collecting into fog
and the rain coming down?


CPITS workshops—freewrites (unedited)
Petaluma ES, with Will Staple
Cloverdale HS, with Lee Perron

Saturday, February 16, 1980



Love itself
has no season, no time
to turn the rhythm of our souls.
As if by convection our breath
is  snatched away and suspended
from mist particles along
the pounding shore


Saturday, February 2, 1980


    —for Betty Wall, Dec 25, 1918 to Jan 30,1980

Betty, today you lost your footing
and you fell like a stone into the void
You took in the amniotic ocean
you, who never learned to swim,
you, who loved the sea,

Today, only the ocean
carries the clay chill of death
Only the ocean
is the spawning ground of death
Only the ocean that spawned life,
today, took back a life.

We swim in seminal fluid
We bathe in an amniotic bath
We are born in it
We run rivers to the sea
on a rip tide that churns to land.

We threw your ashes to the wind
from a clay pot that you made
back to the forest. In spring,
rhododendrons will bloom,
and we will pick huckleberries
when you return home,

2/2/1980, rev. 2016
added 10/16
mostly reconstructed from my journal notes, I later found the typed version, below.