thinking of those days behind the wheel, cat stretched across the dash, exemption stretched out along straight, gray highways trying now not to swallow that hook, though lately it seems the city hates me, shoves me toward her swilled-to-the-gill gutters back then, there was the bag kept in the back and it didn't matter that … Continue reading *


I can't forget that day the hummingbird darted through the snow - you slept through it - content with the dogs in a patch of morning sunlight, which found and stroked the red-gold stubble on your cheeks the way I wished that I might without breaking your sleep


these things cannot yet be called memory - too fresh, too new, too aware of their own being to be relegated to the corners of ponderous afternoons how that spring you sprouted, sudden and furious in the sanctum of breast, winnowing tendrilled assurances around and about these willing ribs until my breath became as entangled … Continue reading 2.10.2015

down east

it was late November when I drove toward Maine I still hear how the wind tore across the highway, rattling doors and nearly blowing that tired red Buick into the frozen ditch I had second, third - hell sixth thoughts on the other side of the state line, but I kept right on - forward … Continue reading down east


6:57 AM and light's early overture has warmed the cherry petals just enough that the faintest scent of sweet emerges maybe it's more than just scribbling poets who note these moments and mark the time, mentally ticking off the mileposts to restoration but this morning's note is more than that - today's surfacing defines a … Continue reading mileposts


I love this now, and this one, and the now I carried with me then, when stumbling upon that field rampant with sunflowers so bent upon echoing the brilliancy of day, they pressed themselves flush against the belly of the yellowing sky and like photographs of loved ones, I tuck my nows between book pages, … Continue reading now


I have counted out the days that do not contain you have lined them up like pebbles I might have pulled from the sand salty still and glinting gray as stones from the shore do I imagine they must remember the rushing kiss of tides just as I remember how the brush of you once … Continue reading pebbles