A mind in love… with June byAugust is abrittle sponge.relentless windschurn waves ofsand and dust,leaving the tonguegritty.they do not speakof September’shurricanes, ofOctober’s killingfrost, the crackedlips, the dry eyes—or of November’sbare trees anddark clouds,election day andthe lies that leavea heart weary.
Sense of Place (Five Haiku) Thin cows, peelingpaint…bulldozergrowls. Foreclosure*+*Old floors creakother lives echo -Third floor walk-up*+*Gathering woodI walk a mileAdrift in snow*+*Cat slips outbell in the willow- the iris*+*Harsh wordsclattering heels—Monday
A Smudge His fingers brush the hemof my canvas coat. Parchmentand bone hovering there.A proud brawler, an ironworkerfrom the river wards, is laid low.When I was a boy, we campedonce along a cold river.He wandered off drunk andI tracked him through the mud,found him sleeping in the reeds.I curled up against himand watched a fox
