"Indeed, these poems sing with a language born of experience, a life closely examined and fully lived."--Richard Foerster, Final Judge

Message In A Bottle

A green bottle washes up on a beach.
It is very old. It is not glass
but something the sea has made by erasure.
The message inside is written in blackberry juice.
No one knows how to translate its language
except by the cardio-bleats that tremored
in the hand that wrote it, the hand bent
by the curve of the horizon,
calculating a rescue, a possible escape.