The taste of winter ice Dug in August from the sawdust Of Conley’s ice house The slap of the screen door On Grammy’s porch

surf and turf of St. Andrews olde salts and bullshit under one blue tarp gossip thick as molasses sparks quick as match-lit gas

Early morning mist Loon fishing quiet water Shining wake behind

last night the winter world transformed to summer’s sphere fireflies in the night their aimless paths alight

(Based on the fact that 95% of household dust is our own skin cel… flakes of me circling in the sunli… bits of you lying on the bureau gather them in a beaker

Pappa always told me that you should never tell all you… and I found it to be good advice I recall the time I got back from… with my winter stores back in ‘39

the sum of the estate: pictures newspaper clippings poems the memories

summer is ending following the rolling sun quite without remorse

Nature’s snowy gown Melts into a silky pool Spring’s passion awakes

I remember the summer of the polio scare we couldn’t go to the cove to swim that whole summer

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…

a cookbook is a strange place to find a recipe for the mind but the notes tell me the lemon tr… blooms year ‘round, never stops; while one branch sweetens the air

SHIPBOARD last night from starless skies a t… stunned and shaken, seeking shelte… from unfamiliar shipboard lights I watched it falter with wings out…

we saw your burnished footprints in the soft beach sand followed them across the sea and through the shattered sky beyo… ‘one small step for man’, he said