Home Alone

I wake up 

to a quiet, 

unpeopled house

float down our long hall

toward the kitchen

my pajamas flutter

like an angel’s robe.

I reach out into the emptiness
sense something there

as if walking in the isle 

of a cathedral dense
with apparitions.

The boys went camping.

I don't miss them.

Instead I long for coffee.

I pour the dark powder

into the white filter 

as reverantly as
a priest preparing
Communion.

Then I lean against 

my white tile altar,

sipping, beholding,

following my bare feet 

into the garden. 

I hear myself humming. 

I hear myself praising the Lord.

I hear myself praying

there is a Lord 
to receive my praise, 

offered 
with so much yearning.

After This

Mount Tam

I want to live again--but not forever!
Time without end would be a bore.

Just give me ten millennia--
that will suffice I think--
to sate my curiosity,
to grow more restless,
to ready me for whatever
happens in that tick
of time before
the next conception.

Or if the worst be true,
to pare my fear
that after all this
there's only an abyss.

My Soul

Lake Chabot

Alone
beside the lake
I sense
something near
fusing me
with not me,
listening kindly,
filling
my empty self
with what is
everlasting.
In silent--
blessed--solitude,
I am at last
conjoined!