Poetry

The Origins Of Our Species

Or

Some thoughts on a letter from Martha Washington to a friend

And some articles in SCI-AM

The King of the Pantheon
bathes in the
hydrogen heavens
where he is god
of unending clouds
and churning storms.

I remember how loving my mother was when I was a child.

She was always supporting and gentle.

She'd make me laugh and feel happy.

She knew what I needed and always provided.

Dear lover, I can only use words to touch you, my hands cannot reach past the kilometers that separate us in time. I wait, but at least I do not wait in the vanity of emptiness, not knowing who you are or for whom I wait.