I will peel myself
Away from you
To go home
Where you are not

I’ve been the one
To leave you
At the center, the hub, home
The axis around
Which I roamed

I will drive across miles
Of long grass prairie
Between home and here
Alone in the grasslands
Listening to the song of the wind
Echo empty
Trees strewn
In abandoned silos
Viewed from the road

In Dallas
The wind in the trees
Sus-sus-sur-us.
The cars on the Dallas Tollway
A distant constant hmmm.
The man in the next room
A voice leaching through the wall,
the bounce of a ball on concrete.
A dragonfly buzzes the treetops
Searching for sustenance.

In Dallas
I wait for you day long
While you work, come home weary
I am alone in a room writing
I could walk, explore the city
Instead I write
Fiction, poetry and this.

In Dallas far
From the Mississippi River
from St Paul
The earth where I can see it
In the city
Is dry and cracked
Not the deep black loam of Minnesota

Dallas to me
Chihuly at the Dallas Arboretum, an accidental meeting again
Zinnias at the end of April, magic I have never known before
Tamarind margaritas, reminscent of Nicaragua
Texas peaches, small and sweet
Shiner Ruby Redbird, a beer filled with color and flight
Avocados ripe and delicious, ready to eat
Blackberries, big luscious
Texas blueberries, sweet this May

A white egret flies
Over our hotel
Every night
Flying home

Where do I fly home?
Home is St Paul where our life is
Home is Dallas where you are
Home is Philadelphia where I am rooted
In Budapest the first time, March 2010
I was home
Walking the streets of my great-grandparents
In St Istvan’s where Aunt Adeline was baptized
I knew her when I was a child
She was an old lady living in New Jersey
With Aunt Katie who spoke English
cut with the slash of Hungarian

Home is where you are
Where love is
Where I was raised in love
Where we raised our children in love
In love
Is home

My daughter says
My favorite word is plump

Rounded full
Spilling over into curves
Peaches are
So overflowing
Their scent follows
The sweet not sweet
Taste on my tongue
In the heat
Of a New Jersey
July day
I walk down sandy streets
Barnegat Bay on my west
The Atlantic at my east
To Viking Village
And the produce stand
I stop for an iced coffee
At the Village Brew
Dark bitter tangy
Cold cold cold
As the sea
The cup sweats
As I carry it
At last I stop at Tony’s
For my daily peaches
I hold them in my palm
With tenderness
Testing their weight
And their fragrance
a certain pull of
Subtle softness

To me a peach
Holds all that summer is
A plump lusciousness
Unknown in any other season

Poetry is my prayer
solitude in chaos
quiet in the noise
soft falls the rain
wind on my face
a breath a sigh
flying in the sky
a red-tailed hawk circles
a feather drifts to ground
a sacred contemplation
a transmutation of
what happens
an alchemy distilled
to an essence
that is poetry.

on a lush green slope
of Volcán Maderas
in dappled light
sun and shadow
weave a swathe
over rock strewn path
lava propelled from within
formed basalt, carved with spirals
falling from time and space
curvilinear lines
rendered on the surface
twisting coiled curving movements
a snake slithers across
a butterfly wings through air
a turtle swims
two volcanic peaks
known before
by other names
imagine these possibilities
made by hand long ago