Learning Signs Her signs grew from imitation, and then the thrill of being understood. She formed signs with pudgy hands before she learned to hold a spoon. She points out dogs and bikes on our morning walks with a pat... Continue Reading →
It’s Existential In my dream someone I don't recognize is reading my mind one word at a time. Or perhaps they're writing, in cursive, composing my dream, not reading at all. I can't tell. I don't recognize the hand but... Continue Reading →
The Staff of Life for Gary They were strolling a boulevard, hand in hand past an aromatic Chinese restaurant, simmering night of ‘sixty-nine, just home from Viet Nam— when something inside him broke, and he woke to find his fingers... Continue Reading →
When It Isn’t There It’s what the bees are busy with, hive-deep, where no light reaches and the constant drone of action serves to make the sweetness those whose labor makes it never taste. It’s what the land that flows... Continue Reading →
Poem for Anaphora I say the moon is an old woman in rags begging for bread. You say the moon is an arrogant hyena, laughing at the sky’s loneliness. I say the wind is an old man sleeping in the... Continue Reading →
Prelude to Innisfree Long before I read Yeats I planted not beans but pieces nine of garden green onion on thick slices of homemade bread Three rows by three rows all green and white on smooth creamery butter spread Summer... Continue Reading →
Poetry Breakfast 