Monday, January 1, 1990



After dark, the plans of thieves are revealed.
Who is the redheaded man tracking me in sleep?
He says, From the back of the moon I've come
to see the unholy light in your eye. My eye?
Besides these words, what beast has escaped
to wrap me in Mobius strips of time?


When I think of life, I think of light.
The I Ching warns: at the solstice,
unexpected darkness returns.
It tells me begin anew at every ending,
to respond to his influence like ripened fruit.
Those who are meant for him come of their own accord.


Sonoma County Community Foundation Literary Fellowship winners

Sonoma County Community Foundation Literary Fellowship winners:  Barbara Foote, Mikle Tuggle, Pat Nolan, Maureen Hurley and Marianne Ware.

I was awarded two SCCF writer's fellowships in 1990 and 1992. Not too sure which one this is. I think it's 1990.



Another page falls from the calendar.
My ex-lover writes he named the unborn son Isaac.
I fall for another man named Isaacson
and dream of a boychild with one arm missing.
During the steep night, owls shift seasons
with the moon. No secrets kept from stones.

When a student asks: do you know Dr. Whitte, the poet?
I'm stunned: a hole slowly fills in on itself.
From that spring visit to his table a half-life time ago,  
small venial stars festered in my womb.
Nearly dying, I've long since paid for my sins.
I no longer trust the sun; we've killed the earth with love.

...missing text

My dreams tell me to dig deeper into the earth 
as if my life depended upon it. I am carnelian & lapis.
Beneath the bridge I find jasper and rare shells.
Tremulous mudflats, every inch alive with invertebrates.
Though no longer in love with the idea of love
I still crave chocolate in late afternoon.

I cannot see ahead, but I remember the past.
I comb the wind with fingers of the dead.
I cannot see the past, but I remember the future.
Is there a reality, and who is to answer?
Seeking islands of refuge, we bleed back into the sea.
Tidal interstice, seasons drift, clouds hold no answers.

This time, I won't open like a flower.
This time, I will endure blossoming stones.

rev. 1992

this one was an ascii mess
middle section missing
use it as outakes?



I am sure of the inner fire burning 
always among the embers of night.
Longing for the clear water of reason,
I migrate upstream, a salmon 
under the moon of the dark sea.
I move among the fury of ideas with the ease of light.
Only I know the meaning of smoke, of asteroids,
of black origins, the honeyed death of topaz,
the first "I am" life uttered from the promordial soup.
No one can diminish me for I am more than
the archer who shoots the flame,
the fire in the head, the saggita
galloping through forests
like an eagle hurling from the east
with eyes of bitter yellow
illuminating the darkness
though the path is not marked.

I have 1990 penciled in on another copy
but no month. I've put it at 1/1, probably written at Alexander V S