8 February 1995
Claustrophobia is sinking in and I
look out the window for help only
it's dark out there and I imagine
that the people outside can see me more
clearly than I can see them (they are only
shadowy figrues to me, to me, who is stuck
in this classroom of garish yellow light and boring lectures).
It's dark outside but fresh and soft and appealing I
wish I could go out into the
rain-scented air so thick you could cut it with a knife
but so much more refreshing than in here I'm
trapped i here withering in here dying in here
let me out let me out let me out I
can't think I can't breathe I can't die let me
join those rain-soaked shadows outside who
dart away from my line of vision when I try
to see them clearly they are hungry too but
they are free they are free they are so free.
Let me go.
13 April 1998
When I place my hands on the ground
I may feel through my fingertips
what the earth feels,
and she may feel through her damp crumbly soil
what I feel.
Then what unacknowledged feelings thoughts words
might pass between us
as I hurry over her daily
without thinking?
17 January 1999
hot and parched
and dreaming of
the cool pacific fog
whose droplets would
cling to my skin
4 December 1998
The damp scent rises heavily from the rich, earthy floor
and curls up and communicates to the trees
and the trees answer the messages by changing their leaves
from green to red and gold
and sending them fluttering down.
