A Kiss

You and I have kissed
for ten thousand years

but these elusive lips
keep melting away, longing for softer
pouted mirrors of their burning.

Now it is time for 'you' and 'I'
to melt away

into a kiss of diamond
that never vanishes,
beauty upon beauty.

This is the press of Radha's mouth
upon Govinda's

in the silence between two breaths.
Here, even the flute is forgotten,

Krishna's blush, the color of sky.

Prose Poem: Privilege

Among the tangled white branches of blossoming plum this morning, eleven chickadees, seven sparrows, five rust-bellied phoebes, and one little wren. Feathered, small, exquisitely vulnerable, none of them are singing, "I am a victim," for that is not a song. All of them are singing, "I am privileged to be alive."


This is the only Christianity I know.
At the end of each breath,
the death of Jesus.
At the beginning of each breath,
the resurrection.
What happened 2000 year ago,
what will happen at the last judgment,
does not concern me.
The sound of the wood thrush
is the end of time.
Because I am awake,
now is the coming of Christ.
I fall perpetually
into grace.
From what should I be saved?
My soul was never lost.
Could God lose a spark
of her own heart?