let the maker be


The tall dense pine shadows

feel the rain

of the sky, silently

the way we

are often asked

to hold

our ancestors pain

and walk the long way home.


I stand in rubber boots

on steps made of stone.

The stone leads to the front door

of a house I did not build

but dreamt of

many years



It’s time.

Make an altar

at the edge of tame

where the wild begins in you.

Leave an offering

each morning

before you take your own.

Ring a bell, send smoke

however you praise.

Feed the hungry

who rest on your shoulders

in neck, bones, ears.


Feed the hungry

who whisper rain

into your heart

for grief

they left undone.


Here Family ­

take words

take prayers

in pencil, pen, and food.

Take this art

and leave the lights on.

Let the maker