Standing Here  ( 1998)  self published


the rubber duck alone

in the empty tub







standing here

at this window, remembering mother

standing here







my child asks

what keeps the moon up?

you do, I reply







the door open

to the meditation room

no one there










behind opaque glass

snow falls







bitter cold morning-

compressed with the trash

some of sunrise







quiet evening-

a spider walks its shadow

across the wall







goldenrod gall


blowing snow







winter moor-

my footsteps come back

to me







dark morning snow

the bus packed

with faces







light snow…

the students study

in silence







late afternoon-

pigeons bank back to

the building







watering their plants

seeing their house

without them







last ray of sun

in the feeder

a sparrow








deep inside

a light









a stranger smiles-

the elevator closes

and goes up







my son asks

how far it goes

… space







lunch alone

without a book

I read my mind








ants disappearing

into cracked earth







still summer night-

shining a flashlight

around the garden







for my son:

lifting a stone

to see







formal garden-

a cabbage butterfly’s









the delicate breeze

among the ferns







cold front

the forgotten dulcimer








heavy rain-

lilac blooms smush

against the window







lying in the leaves

the sun shares the shape

of her corduroys









sentinel pine-

roots running every which way

showered in moonlight







deep overcast-

chickory blue

out of concrete rubble







late day sun-

deep on the forest floor

a seedling







beach walking…

collecting pebbles

and letting them go







floating in its own

little place in the rocks

a diet Coke can







quietly, he goes about

reading the names

grave by grave







early autumn blue-

last turn out of town

facing the hills







as we talk…

wind blowing leaves

out of the trees







snow flurrying…

the deer, one by one, look back

before they vanish







in the dark

through the window light

my wife and child