another day
avoiding it
the sun
summer night-
in a pile of rubble
the house’s scent
between poems
at the microphone
the wind…
another reminder
the blossoming tree
with thorns
sun on new snow-
a chickadee
repeats its name!
in an opening
just right
Orion’s Belt
 the way
the waterfall flows
into being frozen
 one generation
pushes another
in a swing
autumn again-
after everything
I pour her tea
each time
out to the U-haul
holding hands
another day
a few birds fly
across the sunset
outside the meeting
  back and forth
   the sprinkler
stuck inside
the dog gets up
and turns around
autumn nightfall
dropping my son off
for something else
where I sit
on my usual bench
remains of a nut
on the trail again…
walking deeper
into myself
after our visit
in quiet, the things
I forgot to say…
to a simple question
my life story
first snow gone-
this steady need
to practice
I choose one-
a roomful of chairs
without people
my eyes closed
to the day
lunar eclipse-
back inside something I did
or didn’t do
letting her
walk all over me
back home
these trees I knew
in all their seasons
another full moon
my checkbook
still unbalanced
snow filling
our tracks into the woods
by heart
in the cold rain
their snow fort
long wait alone
in the parking lot…
a dog in the next car
keeping quiet
the day’s last light
on new grass
she wanders away…
her snail disembarks
the matchbox truck
in the middle of a crowd
someone I knew
always takes his time
the custodian watches
the floor dry
my daughter whispers
something she knows
reading her letter-
suddenly aware of the look
on my face
from room to room
on the Clue board
a tiny spider
by the ocean…
again filled
with emptiness
reading into it
as much as i can
my life
a few floors down
in another building
someone else looks out
so much we have…
yet between us too
an emptiness
a few snow flakes
entering the woods
cold dusk
my thoughts pass through
a crow flying by
we go to one end
then the other
the plant in the window
has gone everywhere
it can
spring frost-
the park cannon aimed
at the church
in the empty room
two quiet types
father and son
the development
deer path
a flat tire
near my father’s grave
I stop to visit
in love
into the snowstorm
the spread of stars
wind moves the snow
from where it fell
between bites
from the apple
he stares…
lingering in bed…
the ceiling has no
flea market-
the Rubik’s cube
already solved
snow fall-
my daughter asks where
we are going…
left and right
he follows the way
of his kicked stone
winter stars-
our meeting
wondering …
will the squirrel find
half of what it buried?
most of the rain
not falling
on me
mower won’t start
busy as a bee
a bee
straight out
of a dream
another day
steady rain
a pickle
in the parking lot
the dates
on the coins
I give up…
removing the neighbors
from view
the chainlink fence
runs into
high water
the crow
in me
gets a response
the habit of looking
where it used to be
– the mirror
garden walk-
she checks herself
in the pond
taking off my clothes
my heart
alone in the waiting room
checking the plant
for reality
droning plane fades out…
how little difference it makes
what age I am
my child asks
what keeps the moon up?
you do, I reply
through more
– my life
being there
in the woods
a tree falls
cross country runner
no one ahead
or behind
of the rain drops
that touch her…
giving back
each breath
free spirits
a year later
they return
the way
rain takes
the mountain
for my son:
lifting a stone
to see
watering their plants
seeing their house
without them
the reading
to no one
the clouds
day break-
from the bread truck’s roof
frost swirls
dreary day…
jack o’lantern collapsed
on it’s grin
on the horizon
holds a cloud
at the cliff edge
my whole life
behind me
deep inside
a light
under the manhole
the night gives
a gurgle
after the thriller
the wideness
of bed
river bank swallows-
my beer label
peels easily
lying in the leaves-
the sun shares the shape
of her corduroys
the hypnotist
describes her technique…
sound of the stream
swallows sweep
through the cemetery
– fresh grave
stiff wind-
shadows of things
stretch on the street
passing me by
in the stillness
a snowmobile
on the street
a person really happy
about something
    no one there
the bus driver
opens the door
back and forth
the elephant
weighs a foot
yesterday’s footprints
in the snow
on a rise
between headstones
a snowman
the custodian
brings up

in a day dream…
I almost
walk into her 
end of its first day:
the shiny garbage can
all beat up
morning light-
the strangers have become
high up
against a big cloud
specks of birds
first day-
a student turns the map
every which way
daylight savings-
I leave my calendar
a month behind
in the way
of a dream
the turtle without a shell
overnight snow-
to help the sun
I shovel some
glint from a car
a stray thought
of Camelot
time called
wrappers rush by
home plate
old wagon
the last load
still there
end of the trail
the world
without humans
 the back road…
one turn after another
more outrageous reds