web in the morning (20210420)

the morning sun
lights up a spider’s single strand
stretching across the trail
a filament bristling like glass
as bright as any fiber optic thread

it makes no sound
as i pass through
expecting the tight twang
of a snapping violin string
or the light bell ring
of breaking glass

the third season (20171121)

red autumn eye
looks southward now

through heavy coat
hard to feel its gaze
but the eye lingers over me
like twilight spiderwebs in my hair
counting out my time
dawn by dawn

i set my feet upon the earth
send down roots
among sycamores
among eucalyptus
i can stand a cold morning or two

i haven’t seen a paperboy
in years
/forgive the sexist terminology
i am aware of it and i’m working on it/

i haven’t heard the
satisfying smack
of atrocities landing in my driveway
or my neighbor’s driveway
my neighbors drive away
my neighbors driven away

i do not read the news
still, it reaches inside my chest
night time hands
separating organs from fatty membranes

autumn red eye
roll south
take these shuddering breaths with you
take these neighbors
who drive away
who don’t read the paper

roll south

pieces (20170501)

silent tracks this morning

but so much glass
glittering on the ground
were the wind to pick up
the air would cut me
to pieces

i follow the rails in shoes
with soles so thin
i feel every facet of every stone
trying to pierce my feet

though empty, i have seen the trains

not the romantic locomotives
with porters and bewatched conductors
crowded dining cars
mysterious liaisons
but industrial bulk behemoths
the color of rust
the odor of old burned oil
delivering invisibles
in closed cars

i walk the middle of the track
iron on either side

a shirtless jogger approaches
loping toward me
glistening in the sun
i imagine myself
in a coat hanging past the knee
a dusty, wide-brimmed hat
arm relaxed but ready
to draw at my side

another poet’s words
write themselves nearby
first in soot
then in blood:
inspired by beauty
betrayed by lust
abandon[ed] by greed
enslaved by guilt

the jogger turns
the wind rises
and i am cut to pieces

Poem 20150406

Today’s poetic challenge from #NaPoWriMo is an aubade. Aubade are kind of the opposites of a serenade, which is a poem or a song meant to be sung at night. The aubade is all about the morning. And I have never written one before. So. Here it is.



the sun comes up like he does
and the alarm goes off like it does
and the cat walks over my head
because she wants to eat like she does
and the dog whines
because he wants to eat and go outside like he does


you roll over away from me
ready to head into the day
ready to exchange the warmth of the bed
for the warmth of a cup of coffee
ready to get dressed while i’m stuck, flat on my back
checking my phone
sneaking glances at you while you
put on make-up
put on your clothes
listening to you
sing whatever song you woke up with in your head on a loop
and finally when i hear you
hit the coffee machine
i finally drag myself out of bed


outside the sun barely is up and hidden behind early clouds
but the hummingbirds already swarm the feeder
four, sometimes five at a time
and somewhere the phoebe is singing
and today the squirrel doesn’t threaten us
from the safety of his tree
no shaking of his tail or angry chittering
just the usual avoiding of other dogs’ offerings
while we perform this morning ritual
even though the dog has a back yard
he prefers to walk on a leash


we drive together
NPR providing the background noise
laughing at the amusing disgusting juvenile
wifi network names that pop up as we
pause at intersections
plenty of college freshman
laughing at their own jokes about
“your mom,” pulling out, or vague threats
about stealing their wifi


in the parking lot
you grab your stuff
and there’s a quick quartet of kisses
and you surprise me with the last one
and the sun is finally breaking through
the clouds
as i drive toward work