a great blue heron watches from a mogul of grass as I scavenge a poem from the marsh Tom Peepety calls
Now that love has died Only silence remains between Two lonely people
surf and turf of St. Andrews olde salts and bullshit under one blue tarp gossip thick as molasses sparks quick as match-lit gas
a cold moon filters down through the purple asters no explorers have returned with caterpillar robes and dandelion gold
Autumn dusk descends Street lights run on rain-slicked… To glistening pools
A man sits reading under a “SIZ… He does not look sizzling hot He looks quite ordinary in fact Perhaps feeling me watching him… (Not noticing the sign because it…
wind tangled trees coiling across a yellow moon spiraling leaves surf-curled dunes
GRAVE POEM: EDITH MUDGET… How is it that I, who kept my hou… And, indeed, my life, and the live… Of my family, in perfect order; I, who made the beds before they w…
liquid blue nightgown made of lighter fare floats in romance of autumn air a ballerina in an erotic dance longing to join that v-trail in th…
little lies, seeds of thyme shallow-rooted, often sewn cover the largest stone yet a tree springs from a single seed
Time for a pit stop Half face in rear view mirror Road unwound behind
which of our ancestors did it - traded wings for thumbs burdened us with possessions fed us to the uncompromising earth…
My queen for a day My man’s is in drag again Halloween party
Clouds on horizon Now and then a shorebird’s cry On buffeting wind
sunlight through the clouds in a ring of bright water loons fish two by two
