flying
through the sunset . . .
dad’s empty beer can
almost full, the moon
draped with a thin cloud
. . . no privacy from the poets
the cool morning breeze
waving
the squirrel’s tail
busy morning—
coffee splotches
reveal his path
the slow drip
of our coffee—
we watch the drizzle
a baseball glove
left on the little league field—
spring deepens
after prayer
still praying over our meal . . .
the fly
clothed in leaves . . .
my father’s dog missing
a tooth
last day of february—
the black cat
holds up traffic
mudflats
painted over—
scarlet ibises
february sun—
a pink house
brighter pink
tailless lizard . . .
i wonder who got
the biggest scare?
a jacket sleeve
waves in the doorway
almost spring
dead moth
at the edge of the drain
winter still
leaves
in early winter wind
converse
lonely in the field
her back faces me
monday morning
packed and ready to go
one last glance
at the heavy bags
under my eyes
this heat
against the cold windowpane
my breath
forms a returning ghost
haunts pass like a fever
