Below zero
These last days
Trees even
Find marrow, strain
Creak a stick-like sway
As if old bones
Flail stiff gestures
Into an unforgiving night.

January 1, 2018


We have this one life
I’m not much for telling others
How to spend their time

Appreciate the same kindness
Hardly ever happens
Like this dreary November morning

Presses for more from us
Demands and demands
When we have this one life before us.

Is there some point to this? A clue
from a simple Beaujolais
in the evening or verse come
into my head over coffee. Short days
drawn into December
that seem a shame.
A feeling a move to the equator
is finally in order now that storms
gather stronger.
A wish might come true.

Oh, for you to be here

At my side so we could discuss again

The intricacies of lay and lie.

And you would smile

Because we’ve been over it before

But the paper would be brought

And diagram of thought again drawn.

It’s not poor memory, really. It just refuses to make sense.

So come back love. Show the intractable grammar of our ways.

January 31, 2017 Washington Ave

poo tee wheet says the bird
from the shelter of cedar
at the edge where it’s heard
a soft sun warms spirit.

it moves in the shadows
ghostly and vague
to an angle of repose
cheerfully satisfied

with up tone, then down
and no branches breaking
the volume of a call
not loud, not soft.

Those who leave
Find a twist of the soul
And cigarettes don’t last too long,
Which frustrates the best
In this stumble of sadness,
That sour taste in the mouth
When a last drag is done
And melancholy breezes lack a name.

Requires a hand to turn this way
Then over, without effort or care,
But how to catch up while gasping
All we cannot remember, think we’re beyond,
Every moment in one, packed in that duffle bag
With just enough room when you leave
And never enough to return,
Once gone.

So common for people to imagine
A life spent idly by the sea.

The sound, rhythm of water to shore
A coming home, over and over

Occupying an edge, on the point
Before another possible one.

March 18, 2017