Lumberjack’s Return

This, the point of the yellow-green crayon-
the grass of this light, not too bright clearing,
the trees circled ‘round like an audience
or perfect fence, this somehow bigger than recalled
but still small enough to cradle us,
place of our memories.

Still, with the hunch in my shoulders I sense
a peripheral silence. Sure enough,Read More »

Suicidal Rain

Drops fall in unison,
roaring on the roof like
a giant’s fan sent to cool the homestead off.

Meanwhile, the beads that fell first
splash into puddles and pots,
filling rows up when all they did was fall down.

The grey has never brightened your mood,
but I guzzle water.
You don’t see its point; You want
the sun to match the marigolds,Read More »