Plums
Language has a flavor.
Imagine tasting peaches
and listening to the canary’s
acoustics; me on the porch
Category / Poetry
Poem for Ishi
Imagine being the last survivor
of the United States of America,
your people bounty-hunted
by invaders from across the sea
The End of Things
So tired she
can barely pull
her suitcase
down the airport
Triolet for a Sailboat
You took us out in your hand-built, gaff-rigged sloop.
You showed us how to trim the jib, hoist sails,
tack into wind, or run through the rip-tides’ hoop.
You showed us the ropes on your hand-built, gaff-rigged sloop.
Vagrant Waltz
It’s time in mid-summer
to think about nothing,
turn from ideas,
make ice cream instead,
float on a raft of popsicle sticks.
Prague
To the girl in a striped dress
standing by the side of the road
like a ladybug with painted lips
as trucks trumpet and honk
Seeing the Tree
We must be watchful,
sort out at any given moment,
the day’s disturbance from what
lies beneath and endures,
Instinct
You
do not love
what I love, yet
want to come into my body
and take possession of something
A Graphologist’s Nightmare
I have a gift. Yes, I can channel your living
mother by examining her handwriting.
No, she won’t feel a thing. A simple sample
is enough – a 3 X 5 recipe card will do . . .
Confines
Wind in the wheat.
She hears the sounds,
a grieving similar to her own.
Thready clouds obscure
the sun, making a milky light.