A quiet morning, so few people are awake, or so few advertise it, it must have just rained but now it’s a lull, just some wind and fragmented gulls blowing over an empty lot . The sky has a tenor to it, all this year it’s been later than it seems and now there’s no denying it– we’ve been here before at home under the oppressive cloud layer . Somehow it’s a comfort to wake […]
A granite morning stony-faced the construction pit eroding away like confidence seeming to say there’s nothing much that is guaranteed to stay . no birds no rain no breeze just two trees that seem somehow fake, given their present surroundings
Waking to obvious rain. Like bright -hued children the construction men wait, dwarfed by and dampened at the site’s abyss. Something might be wrong, now, they collect and gather, staring down. Conjecture: a short but unknowable distance. A gull’s nervous warble, unseen. The stillness of the ginkgo tree. No wind. Someday it will grow to shade this view, to blatantly obscure, not by illusory degrees— I know what is unknowable, sometimes. All this slanting rain. […]
1. His left hook split your face and sent your brain to visit the farthest reaches of your skull, your head bobbing on a sea of fractured shouts receding into a single point of high shining song. 2. The cut kept opening up like a family secret. They made you stop before you lost the eye. You went to war, re-crossed the Atlantic, survived, came home, got so drunk at times that you let my […]
Time like a river ebb and flow they said it won’t rain but it does seem likely the distinction of morning becoming more and more opaque and drowsy warm bedding regaining its succor half-asleep I turn my thoughts to you always always a comfort a bauble for my den
The moon is the moon, regardless. Some things are certain, say, great bodies of water, stark mountains— I return to them as I return to you, a pilgrim. That is not to say I believe in much, only that some things are too familiar to deny, even this moon, half -eclipsed, playing at garnet, even you, now far again, but still known, always known, there is a landscape, a knowledge, that cannot be denied— when I […]
Putting away the sun dresses, the summer has carried us here– there’s an edge in the sky, a mix of blue with hard tin, wan through half-shut blinds as the window wiper descends in a perilous descant. Some movements are immovable, their arc and conclusions, fixed.
It’s too night, unloved black-cat black, as inked punctuation, looped pauses and finalities, or more like shaped as a glass, not hollow, but wanting. A night is a vessel, a word, an arrival, still, the shore never ceases to surprise me, and neither does the sea.
Monday morning mountain comedown with sunburnt lips and aching legs in comparison to the alpine the city is mundane with its colorless clouds and effortless grades it all seemed so clear the higher I climbed even the goat trails the bushwacking of trees the unstable scree slopes I only know how to enjoy what it seems I’ve earned even last night I saw a glacier field approaching in my dream until turning back I woke–
Late mornings lost hours lashings of rain on the faux window deck– the air is cooler now easy to breathe in but being more liquid more difficult to grasp– like the concept of letting a summer go in peace– the fires are finally now starting to ebb out but still I clutch it in tight fingers like some scratchy worn blanket comforting in its discomfort like how I even regret my regrets–
OPTIONAL POETRY 