Grandgirl, you are in my bed now, and in all of it. You are horizontal and your soccer feet are planted like oaks on the far...

Indian River I had no idea when I threw the mangrove seed, wishing for brighter days, clouds prowled over the mainland. Perhaps my offering failed, perhaps nothing could be done. But...

Unlike a writer - who works alone until ‘ready’ for the editor - choreographers most frequently do not choreograph without another body, a human subject. Ideas are being observed and evaluated by your dancers, in front of your own public as it were, even as they are being created.

From Monet to a Miner’s Ass We are just back from the old world. A six hour time difference with serious jet lag. Too tired to make...

2 teens in sundresses pushing a stolen shopping cart into the Bow River time’s a runny egg yolk always on brown toast honey & oats medieval peasant teachings...

What Should Be Depression is not always darkness.Sometimes it’s padded-room whitenessthe brightness of claustrophobic conversationsindivisibly linked, infinite shards and chips,an overwhelming push toward cleavers of...

We No Longer Kill Our Visitors The millipede scurrying across the basement floorsearching for a dark corner in which to rest. The spider dangling from the...

Woman In A Field I want to paint your sky blue skirt spotted with hundreds of white islands, ocean on land before a primrosed field,...

A poem by Isaac Beekman -- Triumphant Return