the apples
in the house are safer--
no bees

your head--
pounding against the earth--
the wound is yours

volatile water
furiously whirling
bursting its boundary

the divine healer
with a single strand of love
knits me together

luminous gleaming
dwelling of the divine
imprisoned for love

August lawn
grows in patches.
Are there goats?

mid august lawn
yearning for independence,
grows unevenly

mid-August;
the lawn a quilt
of greens and brown

in the twilight
dancing on my brain
fading shadows

fleeting moments
bourne away by the wind--
dandelion time

I awaken
to a crisp August morning--
God's surprise

scraps of yarn
collected from my life
weaving into recovery

cows in the stream
huddled in the shade
sizzling beef