in the wonderful again,
house left behind,
doors wide open,
anything worth stealing
happened long ago—
a sweet smile,
parting sorrow,
the relief of belonging—
they pack lightly,
travel with me, gifts
to be given on.

Saturday Night at Daret’s

the rough justice
of nature—
the ravenous young,
an old woman sitting,
chopping, peeling, scraping
all day long, her gentle,
free, forgiving smile—
we have “had our innings,”
as Rosy would have said.
Only those who dare
the no space
between humility and pride
the cruelty of time.

Chiang Mai