In the darkened kitchen I press down on le piston;
feeling resistance as the screen seines the coffee grounds.
Out on the terrace I take a lawn chair abandoned last night
as we dallied beside the Vézère finishing the Bergerac rosé.
A pair of swans pass by. They nest up river in the reeds
Continue reading… "Occasional Mornings"
where Eric rents his canoes to people like you and me.
I like to think
Continue reading… "The Small Sculpture Speaks"
that my conception
brought her pleasure—
this trinket-box body
and blond doll’s head.
Looking for myself again
and also trying to lose her
when gray began ungathering toward morning
Continue reading… "Twenty-Seven"
I anchored my body to beach beside the river.
In the river, the water moves
swiftly over moss-covered stones.
On the banks, rhododendrons and magnolias,
Continue reading… "Chattooga"
their branches dragging in the current.
as if your life depended upon it.
orchestrate the strings section to interrupt precisely at this moment.
beat an agreeable outcome.
flavorful commerce and furloughed foreclosures.
Continue reading… "tonight they will light upon an idea"
I could be a silver butterfly clip in
Continue reading… "Variation on a Theme by Alison Luterman"
an airplane passenger’s auburn hair.
Or I could be red-tinted glasses in
a taxi rider’s tan satchel.
I could hold the hand of the man at
the train station, clutch his
callouses like a lover, like a glove.
At the bottom of the drawer lies
Continue reading… "One-Way Mirror"
a gleaming woman around twenty
smiling with widely parted rosy
lips around straight white teeth.
Her chestnut hair in long waves
frames the lean bones of her face.
The face flushed, the eyes sapphire.
There is a pleasure
Continue reading… "There Is a Pleasure"
in lifting the lid and stirring
ham & split-pea soup
my wife has left simmering.
It draws me out of myself
to set whatever I’m doing
let each day decide what’s best for a broken beast
like me, like anyone shackled to one existential crisis
or another. why choose breath when the murderer
wraps his meaty garrote around your throat?
Continue reading… "“When Did You Decide Not to Give Up?”"
Neurda called watermelon the green whale of summer.
Sprinkled with salt, I call it the holy grail of summer.
Driving the farm-to-market road to the cancer clinic
Continue reading… "Summer Ghazal"
for your last visit, let us praise each hay bale of summer.