She sets the glasses 
with art -- height, color, shape --
sun rolls off edges
and through transparencies,
then chooses one
                                    just for me.

Note: This is one of Georgia O'Keefe's kitchen shelves, which looked so much like my grandmother's. 

Hidden away,
as if in a magic lamp
that we rub and rub,
life comes to us bit by bit,
shows us who we may become.

Note: This image is taken from a photo of my father, probably about age four (1936-ish). Hard to believe he was ever so little.

I crawl in and curl
through inner twists, and points
that stick out like legs.
You say, 'An odd little home!'
I say, 'It fits well, for now.'

A river runs through
each moment, each unknown bend
carrying us --
jumbled, perhaps mud-soaked --
toward, with all that we love.

Roots snake around boulders,
moss, and bind them -- a single,
firm foundation,
for new growth to unwind,
gentle ferns to find their footing.

Wind will blow and blow
forever lost between shores.
But you have roots deep
into the dark stillness of earth --
are anchored, yet breathe free.