He did not fail/ as a friend/ for not keeping/ in contact/ after my/ father died// He failed/ as a friend/ for

We were each other’s/ favorite pair of old shoes.// One of our friends broke/ the rocking chair./ It made good

I dream my dog,/ long dead and gone,/ is made of spring twigs,/ bundles of brown forsythia/ the yellow

I was born into my father’s fancies/ and my mother’s raking sorrow,/ and the blending of the two/ became, out

A bumble bee hovers/ above my bleached sill/ taken by a yellow/ pencil resting there.// Silver wings humming                   

In the midst of a green landscape atop/ checkered flooring, you are the king/ of an army, soldiers and knights

His name is in the water turning/ over and over. If you heard it today/ it would be unrecognizable. Smoothed

I stayed still and watched you turn./ I kept my hands held towards your face./ I kept them still./ Still, I saw you

 "Lacey?" A familiar voice calls out my name as I am browsing the flowers in Harmony's Floral Village. I

The year before my grandfather died/ they bought a new farm.  As the car/ pulled up our eyes were dazzled

It’s raining again, and the remnants of leaves/ shellacked on the slippery stoop test/ our dogged tenacity.

‘We have short time to stay, as you.’ Herrick/ Mayflies maintain no stomach for a fight ,/ they are love flies./ After

On the road there are stairs, twisted like a rope./ Cottonwood kicks up yellow dust interrupting/ the breath that

woven angst strangle/ intervene thought relieving// grasp dragging suffocate/ abnormal squirm wallow// tread

When Kevin was in kinder there was a terrarium in his classroom. His teacher Susan kept a praying mantis in it, and

On the library third floor/ three works of art converse./ A rust belt photograph of abandoned buildings,/ empty

It’s freezing outside. I’d say my fingers feel like icicles, but the truth is, I can’t feel them at all, they’re so numb.

In shade from the hot Spring sun, I try/ to count the colours round these walls/ but lose myself in the tumbling

mirror, mirror,/ in the hall/ age comes to us all,/ and looks wither/ through the play/ of years slipped away,/ away

Gloria stands up on her bike, using all her 125 pounds to propel her up the hill, past the fire hall— the pride of