anglers dot or clump the pier’s boulders/ casting, reeling, fighting:/ to bait stolen, a catch of seaweed

I posed a question for my love./ I paused for an answer, holding/ still, but in time no answer came./ Wind

Alone,/ a loon sang/ of poetry,/ her voice caked/ across a lake/ dimpled by rings/ of leaping fish.  

Take a swim in the darkening lagoons/ under my eyes, live vicariously through a piece/ of cake served

of my memories remain ashen tears of contrition/ when I walk on the embers of a purgatorial past/ it

Ten years from now when we look back at these days/ It may seem funny how we were so scared of a

Across the top of the world/ an unknown, mystical experience/ of boom and flash in the white/ realm

They were days/ spent on soft grass/ and warm sunshine.//They were days/ not worrying about my actions--

Endings introduce us to companionways./ Emotional maffick is integral to revision./ It’s best to

Watching his color drain,/ I recall the brown river,/ rusty film of steel mills and cracked oil/ coating the

The ivy would take over the house/ if we let it./ I water my indoor cacti once per week/ and I forget/ that the

Wonders of the night/ Then there's wonders of the light;/ Tell me, O lonely traveler/ In which you shine so

September rain/ heavy in the afternoon –// leaves hang on/ their branches—// long goodbyes/ as autumn

How can you be sure/ that your glasses are seeing/ the same thing as you? 

You can plan to change the world./ It is even encouraged, against likely odds./ Consider the endgame

The sky is getting closer with every breath./ I found everything when I found myself./ I am enough to the

Echoes of you beckon to me on the bleakest of nights, a mesmerizing melody weaving its way through my

Sometimes/ I am dropped into evening’s glory/ beside you, relieved of cunning, anxiety,/ at peace with the dried nest

Grass rippled greenly on the bluff/ all the way to the wild roses. American/ goldfinches flitted from tree

Raging against the grizzly dawn/ Shoulders burning and cheeks aflame/ Yet the drive still a sea of level white