Some of these poems reach back twenty or thirty years. I think is it time to send them out.
of this we wonder
what is
superfluous in this
wide open flower
of a world; always and ever
conceiving
the light forward
and fecund;
even famine and flood,
yes, (of mysteries)
a sob, a song resounding
beyond memory’s cave
(flashes fo fire
flickering the walls)
of this we wonder;
what is
real and even in the
brightest flower
there dances amidst
the fond petals some
small shadow
Transgender Transcendentalism 