Stride
At one point in the gallop
All four feet are off the ground
And the horse is for the moment
Airborne the way an angel
Category / Poetry
Size 8
I will know I have lived a good life
when everything I own
at the time of my death
can fit into a shoebox
you can slip under the bed
Arapahoe Pass
Up the dust and indian paint brush afternoon
the sun rolled like a stone
between my fingertips.
Even with the columbines
and valleys sprouted high green,
The Thief
When I stepped out
into the purpled night air
even the rain smelled like you,
The Daily Wheel
I can’t deplane from the daily wheel,
grime glued to its ball bearings.
That wheel turns trapezoidally
and squawks louder than a thousand bats!
Discharge
When the war came,
it came to him in flashes,
abruptly, like something
convoluted
Molecules
She sounds like cobblestone when she sleeps
but wakes early, before the grass the burning
bushes or tiger lilies, only the roots of our
willow are awake at this hour breathing,
Dionysiou Areopagitou Street
ancient marble frames
wide cobblestone,
hills and trees
as if
a painting
Just Past Wisconsin Ave. on 4th St.
I want to be someplace else
like the restaurant my father
drove us to when I was twelve,
downtown with fish tanks
For what it’s worth
If you want to measure your salt, bake.
Bake until you develop a crush
on the green ceramic knife and
linger at the kiss of good chocolate