each day a cycle
home to work, work to home
a quiet faith in things,
as real as unreal this way
of being here all these seasons
 *
*
*
so many things
to have opinions on
yet as I drive along
I don’t arrive
at any of them
 *
*
*
standing here just watching
the spring sun sparkle
on the water…
what is it they say
about living life to the fullest
 *
*
*
now the mower won’t start
in the middle of this rough day
I find myself
carrying a white towel
back to the house
 *
*
*
in my daughter’s room
which used to be my room
her shelf
full of model horses
all looking at me
 *
*
*
high clouds…
one horse leans in
against another-
before our children
my wife and I were like that
 *
*
*
with thunder very close
our little dog
gets in under my legs,
if only I could feel
so safe with myself
 *
*
*
early summer breeze
plays the sun
across the forest ferns-
everything so nice
I hardly know what to do
 *
*
*
before the new puppy
my wife got ten chickens,
before them two parakeets, two cats,
our two children and long ago
just me…
 *
*
*
at the old parking lot
the sparrows bathe
in a big puddle
sometimes I’m so happy
just to be here as witness
 *
*
*
my wife needs a room
of her own,
a place to close the door,
a place I never saw
in the sunnier days before
 *
*
*
a storm coming up
and as I take the laundry
off the line
it occurs to me
this is a moment to savor
 *
*
*
I hold back 
 saying anything
because of the way one thing
leads to another
if you let them start…
 *
*
*
hugging
perhaps too long
but not long enough
to remember
her name
 *
*
*
years are passing
unable to shed tears
for anyone-
will I wait to the end
to let it all go?
 *
*
*
I’ve never been homeless
but think of it
seeing that shed
with a broken window
dawn light streaming in
 *
*
*
the geese go where
they must go
no mind-
the spring rain drops
bouncing off me
 *
*
*
much of my life spent
wanting others to like
what I like-
in my jacket pocket the stone
is worked with worries
 *
*
*
having told her
I was writing less
and living more
I promptly write down
the absurdity of that
 *
*
*
for all that
which I will not get to
do in this life
the fountain carries on
in the rain
 *
*
*
the sun leaves me
at the Rest Area
with another day done
I entertain the thought
‘you can never go home again’
 *
*
*
you, ready as me
there on the other coast
imagine, to hop a freight
and leave behind all
that didn’t seem quite right
 *
*
*
in the wind
I rake and gather
leaves
with thoughts of people
I’ve known before
 *
*
*
the river must make
so many curves
to pass through the lowlands
             the way nature always
             says something to us
 *
*
*
this piercing cold
makes me realize
the gift it is to be alive
even if the way along
is too thin or thicketed
 *
*
*
in the attic
to set a mousetrap
I find a letter of long ago,
the fiction of a new love
that did not last
 *
*
*
amazing
flesh and bones
driving in heavy traffic,
that here I am
doing this
 *
*
*
in embers tonight
I stare
and wonder why
I am here,
you are there
 *
*
*
ten years later…
both married with one child
we all pass on a path
and smile politely
without a word
 *
*
*
cold walk home
I stop to pee
looking up in the dark
the tiniest of snowflakes
finds my nose
 *
*
*
to show me
the spirit of a train
I wish for one to come-
these overgrown tracks
I walk along
 *
*
*
the cold walk,
silence
between us,
the creek running
under ice
 *
*
*
three days removed
from Halloween
the ghost of me goes
through the motions
in this tattered family costume
 *
*
*
my favorite old t-shirt
through the wash
with my fountain pen in pocket
has left ink stains to wear
all around my heart
 *
*
*
showing my daughter
my childhood ‘fish’ jackknife
she promptly says:
“i’ll put that in your grave
when you die”
 *
*
*
in line
at the post office
I watch her
pen point search
for the last thing to say
 *
*
*
beneath the open
library window
she wakes slightly to stretch,
and beautifully
change position
 *
*
*
creating a space
in himself
that can’t be filled
        – his lengthy ritual
          seaside walks
 *
*
*
a pale sun
visits
every now and then
the crocus bed
you made
 *
*
*
in the bottom of a box
during our yard sale
I find my childhood chieftan ring
          – within five minutes
            my son has lost it
 *
*
*
sunset shot through
the mist nestled 
across the swamp,
how hard it can be
to forgive and forget 
 *
*
*

she looks long
at the ocean,
that place she threw
a rock and
her bracelet too…

 *
*
*

the concert over,
the crowd empties
out into the street,
where people and music go
in some eternal tune

 *
*
*

so the day
with its snow
and cold is done,
a three star
sudoku too!

 

 

 

 *
*
*
were I an old dog
with a happy grin
and even some naughty habits
it seems my family
might find me more sympathetic
 *
*
*

passing by so close
and quietly…
it’s as if the dark permits
the deer and me
a mutual sense of safety

 

 

 *
*
*

she presides over an hour
this sunny spring day…
when my focus begins to shift
she tells me
we aren’t done yet!

 

 

 *
*
*

of this world
one day
in a third floor mansion,
the next
at the bottom of the sea

 

 

 *
*
*

so much spring going on
yet the old truck,
going nowhere,
has a bird’s nest
built on a back tire

 

 

 

 *
*
*

 

by myself
driving by the lake,
the one I once drove by
with my mother,
that last trip out of town

 

 

 *
*
*

in the attic to clean
I read letter’s from my parents
to each other…
so many things
that cannot be thrown out

 

 

 

 

 *
*
*

I check out both ends
of the Staten Island ferry
and join the majority…
those who look ahead
to where we are going

 

 

 *
*
*

again this year
the leaves fall
and I watch…
the world as it is
still too much

 

 

 *
*
*

late night
alone in the stillness
the Christmas lights
go off and on,
off and on…

 

 

 

 *
*
*

before dawn…
this timeless journey
in the here and now
exploring further
myself again…

 

 

 

 *
*
*

cracks in the plaster
have appeared again,
as inevitable as ever
this difference
between us

 

 

 

 

 *
*
*

on my bike ride home
I pass a man and his kids
who both wave at me…
my happy wave back
in cycling fellowship

 

 

 

 *
*
*

how lovely
to do nothing at all
as these wind gusts
billow her blouse
a bit open

 

 

 

 

 *
*
*

no contest at all
sitting here under a willow
watching the water
while all sorts of chores
remain undone…

 

 

 

 *
*
*

yet another message
to be found out here,
this plains town
football field
without a scoreboard

 

 

 

 

 *
*
*

gently
the morning has come,
the ash tree leaves a flutter
as if I should hesitate
to find my way into the day

 

 

 

 *
*
*

I give up the search
and go out to buy
another bottle…deciding where
to safely hide it
I find the missing one!

 

 *
*
*

always wanting
to speed further away
from that day, pulled over
to be given a ticket
for my family to see

 

 

 *
*
*

made my bed
and lying in it
a whole night
without much sleep
but plenty of positions…

 

 

 *
*
*

perpendicular
to my path here
late in the day
quickening my step
someone I want to see…

 

 

 *
*
*

there was a first day
on the job and now
forty-two years later
I arrive at the last day
and walk out the door…

 

 

 *
*
*
post cards
from all over the world
sent with little messages
as if I was somewhere
beyond the living room…
 *
*
*
 raining leaves
in the balmy breeze
this walk shows me my life
has arrived with no need
to be at odds with itself