On December 11, my dear friend Don Flint suffered a massive cerebral hemorrhage. I have spent many days since then watching at his bedside. These are the poems that have come and continue to come out of that experience as Don fought first for life, then for consciousness, and now for the full return of his body and mind.

• The River to Your Eyes I sent this poem to Don a week before his stroke. He called it "beautiful," and said it must have come from my heart.
• Christmas with the Dead This was composed in the Intensive Care Unit waiting room, surrounded by other anxious family members, each keeping watch over their loved ones.
• What I Forgot "Christmas with the Dead" seems to say Don and I are traveling apart, a notion contrary to my beliefs and too painful to bear.
• Three Hags and the Moon or: Jealousy Don has many friends, and each of them wants to be with him and help him recover. To my shame, I have to admit I am jealous of them.
• The Koan Though barely conscious of his surroundings, Don continues to surprise and touch me deeply. It is not always pleasant.
• Life as Subversive Act The ability to swallow without choking, to urinate without a catheter - these are triumphs in the fine art of staying alive.
• Glass Each person who comes to visit Don sees a different thing, as if we were using him as a window, a mirror, a lense to examine our deepest fears. What must this feel like to him?
  Don helped me revise this poem, sharpening some of the imagery and wording.
• Leading Home Don seemed a little down this past weekend (Jan. 15-18), so I wrote him this song.
• All That Passes This Valentine's Day brought home the fragility of human hopes and the durability of human love.
• The Blue Inspired by an idyllic day on Mount Tamalpias.
• The Knife That Saves Sparked by Don's revision of his "Headache" poem.
• Teratogenesis One of the drugs Don takes is "a powerful teratogenic agent." So is his disease.

A week before the hemorrhage that sent him to the hospital, Don suffered a severe headache. He had gone to a club in San Francisco, but found the pain so intense that he decided to go home. Driving home in a rainstorm, he suddenly found himself lost and confused. The roads didn't make sense to him anymore. We now believe this was a precursor to the major bleed that happened a week later. In the week between that first, horrible headache and the one that nearly took his life, Don wrote this poem:

• Headache

After four months of recovery, Don has now revised the poem, adding thoughts about recovery and survival. When he is done with it, I will ask his permission to put the drafts on this website.