days brim and burst in expectation,
sky drenches one place,
leaves another dry,
trains approach loud,
then quiet,
thoughts like smoke
stretch high and far,
stowing secrets
in the summer air.

i look down to see
the road does not
pass underneath
my feet, and stare
for hours and hours
and hours

practicing piano chords while
grandpa prays his rosary in the next room,
a warm handshake goodbye,
a half-written check for a waiting taxi,
the heart's litany beating into stillness,
late night news,
the perfectly round host,
supermarket roses,
winter rain hailed down,
blanks fired into dark sky,
the sexton's white fingers,
hope rang from grief.

In the kitchen, my father cuts birthday cake ( Read more... )

in my cold basement ( Read more... )

the way the hills lift and pastures lay ( Read more... )