Am I Thus Soiled

Am I thus soiled by envy and toilor bettered in a blind groped striving?I will blow a hole through a massifnot to defile its majesty, but to carve,to carve and cut my own dark passage,below the harrying slopes, below the treeline,over which ice ever bars my way. And as you push on to the summit,short […]

In the Lost and Found

I findnot many lighters and too many cheap shades,laid against a loose-hinged trifocal,Expensive, lost and necessary,upon the flip-top notebookbound with crushed spiral wire,And within, the gibberishof a young girl’s day –there are holes above the i’sand myriad loves to Matthew. I finda green squeeze coin purse –an old man’s plastic strongbox –scavenged of cointhat only […]

The Dishes My Love

What was it, that chocolate crustscorched in the pot from yesternight,leaning, off-burner, with the danglingspoon, wooden and stained? Best give it a soak, my love,that tomorrow we may findits nature framed tight in stainless,framed tight in the soap bubblesthat have raced and clingto the round squat walls. Perhaps we may find, tomorrow,among the gray pepper-flecked […]

Hope Refused

From once to somehow to somewhere,The brittle language of hope cracksBetween my teeth, much as iceCracks beneath my boots as I,Unhurried on a wax gibbous morn,Make my way to the car. For what is hope but an admissionThat what is is not enough. Take this –The assertion that on this day,In this winter, it is […]

The Sheared-off Pin

The pin is broken,And the wheel has slipped from the rod.The mechanics of our passageAre broken now,And all our worldly venturesHave spilled out onto the ground:Her red backed Bible,Your cast-iron pans,The lens we used to burn down ants.All there in the muck:My bad corduroy pants.Jerseys of just so muchVictory – and victoriesCounted large thoughLying there […]

The Crumpled Snow

The orange slim line of the chopper overheadMeans only one thing here – certainty.Certainty that northeast of where I standIs a near departure,Perhaps wedged behind a wheel.I will count the minutesAs I count thunders and strikes.I can do nothing else. For in the next thick hourIn the next thick breath,A mother may weep a son,A […]

One Room Schoolhouse

It is red brick and steady.Though the herefords tread the floors these days,She is steady. And though the window framesCarry little paint – it was white – and holdWhere they fell, and thoughThe creek has wandered, no, carved,Deep against the footing stones,She is steady. Steady as the ma’amThat taught them. Steady as the handThat scraped […]