The Old Footsteps (from the journal)

The ant on the journal runs,
looks for herself. The pages
smell familiar, the old footsteps. 8-7-11


Like a slow snow,
the abandoned skins of spiders
float down, catch on our toes.
Somewhere the new skins harden.
Summer ripens. 8-10-11


Under the black umbrella
counting hummingbirds,
swelling poke berries,
the single sounds of rain. 8-13-11


Weighted by last night's
rain, the woods lean heavily
over cricket's many voices. 8-19-11


Almost half a moon,
a mourning cloak,
and a blue dragonfly,
repeating. 8-22-11

Nazca Spinner

Fired clay with glazes, 15 x 1"


The surface designs are from a book of Peruvian hats; the colors are not traditional.

Always at the Right of Red

Lithograph, hand-colored with watercolor, 5 1/2 x 7"


Always
at the right of red
dream light
dancing.


Years ago at the UCSB College of Creative Studies, my litho professor gave my stone to another student to use before I had printed my image. My image was lost. This is the fourth attempt to recreate that self-portrait. I decided to try again using this poem that I like very much.

Grandmother and Child

Fired clay with sgraffito, 15 x 1"


This is a portrait of an old friend with one of her twin granddaughters.

Matt

Lithograph, 5 x 5"


Portrait of a former student.

Sometimes

White-line relief, 7 x 9"



Sometimes
walking in on
orange leaves,
beauty pauses
with a glance
that holds me
like a lens.

Rose of Sharon (from the journal)

The dark silhouette
in the crab apple anchors the morning.
Catbird listening. 6-22-11



A wall of pink--
dusty for the dusty
bees. 6-25-11



The black and white dragonfly
is very dragonlike on my shoulder,
on my white blouse. 6-29-11



From all sides
the cicadas
box our ears. 7-13-11



Through cicadas' scattered
and broken calls comes
the smooth blue voice
of one mourning dove. 7-18-11



A noise in the woods.
Later from the green wall,
three red deer emerge
unafraid of the old poet
writing in her red journal. 7-24-11



Summer light comes lower now
through yellow wood poppies,
across sassafras' horizontal hands,
spilling sideways over myrtle's dropped seeds,
touching down into an August that comes on now
even as it rolls away. 7-25-11



The air moves easily again,
not burdened with heat or water.
We breathe.
Cicadas breathe.
Fish crow breathes.
The squirrel breathes,
munches on ripe crab apples. 7-26-11