Someday we’ll look back, I hope, and you won’t believe how I used to sit and let doubt and red wine carve me out from the inside in measured small sips, hardly maudlin, just knowing how how many laps it takes to cross the night. Then I’ll say hope is an albatross, and hope that you’ll see not just Dickinson and duality– harbinger of good omens, and doom– but also the sea stretching on for […]
On one of the last undecided days, it was a comfort to wake from strange dreams, derived from the keeping of odd hours– not mine to have. The sky is dead dull, won’t even play at being day, this empty house exhales stale heat and this beige curtain oscillates a bit, this houseplant unfurls a new burnished leaf– Still life, still life.
Slate gray lake a moving slate each crescented line a mark and an erasure. He said here lies he whose name was writ in water and so is everything– nothing completely old, or new, the same wave, different molecules. From this house on a hill the South end of the lake appears to glow from within now and then, a thinning of overcast skies, more sophistry, set against snow-dusted hills and block print vineyards, stark […]
The road paved in ice and that damn owl playing hopscotch on the roof all night. The room too warm, the smell of snow came in a cracked window at three, such an unbecoming hour, and it seems there will never be enough– I mean, there isn’t a leap or reach that isn’t preface to a landing.
OPTIONAL POETRY 