Category: Poetry

And as the sun roseAnd earth and air and water warmed,The silt of gray fogDissolved into translucent haze. And then

I’m sure you have them, too,Those clips of memoryThat seem so random,That begin in the middleAnd stop without resolution,Without concluding

The buses full of tourists jammed the lot. They’d come to see the trees and be beguiled. A woman pulled

“Do two walk together, unless they have agreed to do so?” His name was Amos and his blackness stoodagainst the

The rain, like settled sadness,Beat on the pool for hoursAnd littered it with branchesAnd fragments of dead flowers The pounding

The day that my grandfather diedI sat on the loose-shingled roofAtop the beaten shed that stoodBehind his gray and gabled