inner art journal

a deepening furrow
between his eyebrows
this angry look
on my laid-back American friend’s face
marks his fifth year in Turkey

my tears

not as captivating

happiness rises

we are more than just this–

sunlight in March shines anew

LOST THINGS

If anything moves
it is by slight of hand.

Lost things
are always
in the last place we look.

Sometimes
we never find
that last place.

Sometimes
we never go far
enough.

Sometimes
we never return.

Sometimes
we never begin.

driven to the sea
by fierce tropic heat
we watch fish
twist and turn in
muted blue green light

three foot dreadlocks
a type of pride
despite a body
slender from
light eating

a herd of short haired sheep
crowds the road
someone owns them
we are told
but no one knows who

a village of land crabs
with earthen burrows
scurry into hiding
as we walk by
~ no risk too subtle

a solitary sugar cane
grows in a garden
descendants of slaves
launder sheets
and serve drinks

the sea
a horizontal
that calms the mind

reaching for another snack
the hungry donkey
sticks his head
under the sun bather’s arm
like a pet dog

our yoga teacher
does her own thing
unconcerned with instruction

a gentle breeze
pushes out the humidity
making me feel
like a soaring gull

another good beach
for snorkeling
let’s go tomorrow
when our new friends
won’t be there