Almost imperceptibly
you exhale and swallow.
Only silence can hold
a sound so slight
so intimate and tender
I sense the fluids
sliding along the soft
pliant tissues
of your throat.

The final poem ends.
The room is quiet.
From the bench behind me
your out-breaths enter my chest.
I breathe you in,
not with any desire
for you or for love itself
but with absorbed attention

the way I follow lucent
backlit autumn leaves,
their smooth and waxy
surfaces, their gentle slaps
one against another
just before they fall.

Note:

I attend a monthly poetry series held in a historic chapel. Even during the summer the light inside the log structure is diminished, and the wooden pews are close together, which adds to the feeling of intimacy in that small space. After the poem is read, we sit in silence for ten minutes. In that silence after one reading, I became sharply aware of the friend behind me and her breathing.

---

Night Music

Music of the night:
wheezing sighing feline snores,
staccato putts of canine gas,
metronomic breath of hominids
all sharing the same bed.

The sleeping dog begins to whimper,
paws twitch in time to high-pitched
warbling barks. Does she dream
of chasing ground squirrels,
never to catch them while awake?

Beside me on the pillow,
the rhythmic click of cat teeth.
Is he snapping in his sleep
at that smart-ass magpie
who teases him by day?

Dramas dwindle, all goes silent.
I turn toward my husband’s warmth
and inward to my guild
of viruses and microbes,
fundamental biome of the self.

Note:

I still have my dog, but my husband Don and Rocky the cat have died. I wrote this poem in memory of them, and the deep sense of contentment and belonging I had with my little family.

---

Breathing with Bramble

He saunters toward me
with confident ease.
Reaching the tall chain-link,
he turns his massive face
to meet mine. I place my hand
against the heavy wire
and his smooth warm tongue
tastes my palm. I whisper a hello
he answers with wise eyes.

In a world overwhelmed
by one species, a world
where bears seek refuge
in the deepest strongholds
of the wild, what is the chance
that his tongue, my hand
gently trade these greetings?

He learns who I am
with great gusts
from outsized nostrils
open to reveal
intricate chambers
leading deep into his brain.
In return, I exhale long
and full, telling him all
he wants to know.
For a moment I step
into the world of Bear.

I tell him he is beautiful
and how I want to sit for hours,
my back against the fence
as his massive breath
glides over my shoulder
like a spring chinook
from distant mountains
bringing me the news.

Note:

Bramble is a brown bear who was rescued from a difficult place of captivity. Unable to be released into the wild, he now lives with his brother Ramble at Earthfire Institute. I was there to help lead a poetry workshop in May 2025, and this was one of the poems I wrote about the rescued animals that live there.

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