June 2004
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Stones
Mornings now open wide and vacant. I wake before dawn. My bed is filled with pillows and books. I walk the dog. I drink my coffee. I sit here, at the oak table, writing letters I will never send. Every morning, dozens of small, pale moths are caught in the door screen. The river has… Continue reading
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crows
in the park four crows eating at the picnic table UPDATE: This has become a collaborative poem dance! I am pulling these up from the comments; anyone who would like to participate, please do, and I’ll bring yours up, too. outside the window of my third-floor office crows shriek and gurgle Patia… Continue reading
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Speaking In Tongues
I try to find a heaven in my dreams, some cloudy place where you are. How can it still be morning, when I have been out here for so long? I am in a house I have come back to. Something is missing or broken. Looking everywhere, looking everywhere, I am caught in a… Continue reading
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love, i ask you
if I go out mining carry my pick and my hoe if I go out in the dark morning to dig you up to dig you out of my- self the pick to cut away stone and the hoe to turn my heavy dirt will I find you hard and silent just another sharp stone… Continue reading
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sonnet in search of a title
The moonlit field is haunted by the brush of hunting shadow wings. The field mouse stops — her heart a frantic rythym in the hush of grassy murmur, field brook rush, the plop of water on the rocks — as wings dip once then down the sound of owl descending, loud to ears now straining… Continue reading
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