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Poetry
Walk With Grand-Dog And Wallace Stevens
Sea gull quartering the wind. Heron along the shore, / then pinwheeling back, low to the water. Wind in poplar, / cedar, beech, and pine, each speaking in a different voice.
December 2012Weekly Apocalyptic, Or Poem Written On The Wall In An Ascending Space Capsule
We had to stop what we were doing / to see what we had done. Thing was, / we wouldn’t.
December 2012Eulogy For A Northern Short-Tailed Shrew In The Driveway Of A House West Of Chicago, In The Prairie State Of Illinois,
Who almost certainly did not call himself (or herself; I could not bring myself / To quite that level of examination of the deceased; gender identity is complex / Enough while you are alive, and moot afterward) northern, or short-tailed, or / Blarina brevicauda, or anything we would understand.
December 2012Wild Weeds
We were sweeping his father’s driveway, / contemplating whether kissing a guy / would be anything like kissing a girl.
November 2012First Kiss
One thing no one ever informs you of when you get ready to kiss a girl / For the first time is where to put your nose: do you lay it alongside / Hers, like a skipper eases his ship along a dock, or do you take turns, / Alternating left and right?
November 2012Selected Poems
— from “Reading Lu Yu in Winter” | I wonder how he was able to bear the cold of China, / Traveling the rivers and outpost roads. / The fires he wrote about were always small, / A few willow twigs or scraps of bark.
October 2012Low Noon
Long after our last slow day together, / say, a campfire, a walk in the woods, / getting lost and not caring
September 2012Daybreak
Light like the moment after the baton tap & before the first symphonic note. / Light of the possible, light of the improbable. / Light not like the way she says the syllables of my name.
September 2012Selected Poems
— from “Wondrous” | I’m driving home from school when the radio talk / turns to E.B. White, his birthday, and I exit / the here and now of the freeway at rush hour
August 2012Gethsemane
When the disciple who loved Him most / unsheathed his sword / and sliced off the right ear / of the high priest’s servant, / we all cheered and stomped the parquet floor / in that February classroom
August 2012
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