Slow publishing.

Every once in a while, I transform one of my poems into a series of quilts. It gives me great pleasure to know that each stanza is a blanket loved and living with different people, connecting them in an ephemeral way.

This poem was written for my son when he was born.

Dream

Meet me in that dream,

the one with the friendly dark.

We can count

the stars on our street,

and the owls

in the park.

Meet me in that dream,

the one with the mouse

and the dancing moon.

We’ll wait for

the winging of bats

weaving

on their dark loom.