The fine hairs of my skin shimmering
In the sunlight over the blue-tinged
Veins in my hand give me pause. I feel
Warmth, the layers of skin on top of
Blood and bone, my invisible musculature
Forming my presence in the world.
My body, my frame. I breath deeply into
The tangible experience of living in
In this body, both rooted and floating
In self.

Coffee Cups

In the morning the steam from my
Coffee makes a rainbow on the glass
Pane behind the kitchen counter
Where it sings and dew drops form
After the storm of my night.
My emotions that pass like clouds
In dreams replacing one scene with
Another with no respect to time, logic.
The taste of the coffee is bitter; the
Sun rises over the mug warming my
Fingertips and I smile in the
Ritual of a new day.


I drink coffee,
A little girl screams.
I walk to the balcony
To peer over the street
In either a wave of humanity
Or morbid curiosity.
It’s difficult to know
In the moment. She is
running with red hair
Like fire behind her, echoing.
Behind her a woman walks,
Hair colorless, with a
Grocery bag and a gait that is
Too calm for the situation.
She confers with the downstairs
Neighbor while the girl disappears
Out of sight. And this is how
Violence passes, unseen and
Ever present.