Margaret Ann Newcomb

If trust were a material thing,
solid and concrete,
there would be huge
boxes of it in the attic
...

The smell of engine oil and butane
remind me of my father.
A zippo lighter that says 'clink'.
On my bike his fishing kreel
...

Shadows wrap around a tree.
A spoon bends in a glass
of sunlit water.
Freshly picked tomatoes scent your hands and
...

If I remember to be
in this moment, every moment,
it is then that life is perfect.
As it is meant to be.
...

We're back together once again,
with eighteen years between.
I was never out of love with you,
now all those years redeemed.
...

...

The kelp, strong and gentle
does not fight the current.
It bends and sways and
bows to passers by.
...

Closing eyes soflty
in the moment of no thing
now quiet begins
...

I gaze across the river
to the trees up on Mt. Hood.
A pair of birds greet
the warm morning sun.
...

The water moves around you,
no space between it
and your skin.
As if it knows you.
...

I wonder can you hear me.
I thought of you today.
For a long time.
Sometimes I come upon myself just standing,
...

...

When I was a kid
I was sure that you said
of a man with unlimited skies
was awarded a gift
...

Words gather
floating together.
While some assembly
is necessary for fluidity,
...

My friend asked 'What is God to you? '

I said 'It's the light in our hearts that compels us to love.'
...

To scramble up the steep brambled
Hill that is your heart is peril.
Gentle, delicate peril.
The scratches and poison of your past
...

In a sudden storm
the raindrop snaps her fingers
while the flowers sing.
...

Obsession squeezes out most other thoughts.
Imagine all the life left out.
The universe bouncing off your head.
And your world, a pinpoint,
...

I lost him in the sun.
And here he is, come again to laugh with me.
'Look at this' he screetches
pushing up and up.
...

Driving across Hood River Bridge,
I note how much I love being
suspended above the water.
Perhaps because I cannot
...