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6 x 9 paperback, 155 pages 

This Dreaming World
new poems
(selections below)




the silent

fly moves

from shadow

through a shaft


of sunlight

and in that


moment glows

This Dreaming World



Rain gathers, softens

and spills, while

truck drivers sing

in their lonely cabs


And you,

bending down now

to gather it all

in a mason jar


What if we treated


as extra—

as if our souls

had come to earth

the way

you and I

would go to a fair.

Why I Sit in Grass under

Trees in the Hills

Things die out here

and no one cares.

Nor do you get any points

for being heroic.

And yet nothing complains.

If you’re uncomfortable,

shift position.

What things do out here is sing

or listen.

What Is Said



Physics teaches

that everything solid

is really a wave.

We just weren’t made

to notice.


Common sense declares

that’s absurd.

Everything’s normal.

Things are

what they seem.


Jesus and other

mystics whisper, Ask

and it is given—

a vaster world

embraces you.


Which is true?

Is reality



or supernatural?



Shouting in the Wind



In the gym yesterday

a guy had on

a t-shirt

for some kind of race,

maybe motorcycle,

that said, “No Wimps.”

Ah, I thought,

How we love to feel mighty,

as if making up

for some essential impotence.

I imagined selling shirts

that said,

“We are all wimps

before God.”

And then I prayed

for a more

lucrative idea.

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