It is down to small gestures:a forefinger lift from the wheel of a passing car,a glance and shallow grin, deepon a sunlit face,a hesitant wave, waist high,from a woman never met,tending roses. Image: Akira Hojo on Unsplash

The Measure

Is this then recalibration — to wake,unspecified, undetermined,as if the means of producing a facemelted into the moon, and the alarm now —whines of coyotes, dog legon my hip, and the tickof slippers in a darkened room. There’s blood in my drums,pumped in time with the click and fireof the coffee machineand the long black […]

On the Miracle of Cups and Twine

On a day unlike ours — how many hourson a string loose strung does our starling love pulsebetween a pair of paper cups — You, over there, not far,but further than you’ve ever been, dismissed to the dispensary —old tools, vague tones, muffled in a string between cups. But delightful, so delightful — mis-clarity or […]

The Maple

The maple is taller than yesterday,peppered with birds and orange bloom – aloofbelow an unscarred blue. But that is the maple, those are the birds,and that is the sky. And though I cannot unseeunfettered Spring, I cannot unseesuspicion, the revulsion of hands,breath and similar heatsthat strain against our leaning. I cannot unknow the slow drawn […]


Is this how stone hears rain?What an odd question to pose.But there it is: Is thisHow stoneHears rain? For now, today,this moment,this hour,this house.this body,this grain, Sits, As raindrapes over the eavesand runs hollowon stucco. And in this place,at the center of all things,where each stone is a stoneunyielding, Rain is rain,rock is rock,and one […]

Shut-in with Dog

If I were a sunlit dog,I’d bask in the road,eat from your can,shit on your porch. If I were a sunlit dog,I’d be feral as cats,wily as ‘coons –the mouse that chews your cables. I’d be the aphids killing your roses,and the black ants herding them there. I’d be the deer, the pheasant,the skunk, and […]

In the Mayhem of Silence

It all went limp –the bags, the cobwebs, the rain.even the chains – even the chains,draped loose as curtains, brush the floor.Even the gray stain on the pillow slippeda bit before pausing, the hinge unhung the door.And all the several fibrous hums –the fridge, the gripe, the train, the pipe –an octave lower than before. […]