Clever with Chalk

 Remember the morning 

I came down and convinced 

Us we were dead?

Being too early

And too quiet to prove otherwise 

We believe it

And a greater hush came

Into the room

And together it grew stranger

As we sat and wondered 

What would happen next.

September 7, 2026

 

Sometimes in the jangle 

of the day

Are the words, I love you.

But what is the truth?

Being truthful?

Or was it the moment I let you down

The breeze stirs

 on top of the river

And blows on

The fish move faster 

in the current

Slack and then snap 

angrily at the darts

plopping in among the surface

Is this a memory?

A history of thoughts 

Dropped to the enemy

A ghost without

Its muscles its bones 

Nothing but a husk

And here we think

It to be—know it all

The last two days 

You have gone mad

And once again I 

Cannot help you 

Though I be still

Fishing—

Writing on this page

Flesh and bone 

and mostly spirit.

 Buy the Book

And

This One Too

Marked for Love

Look you

Marked for love

What pants

What sweater 

What blue space

Next to star

Hangs on you

What drapes close

And open revealing 

A kiss finally

Summer

Buds

Caterpillar 

Piano noise

Coming off the street

Seeds

How does one keep cool

Be more sure-footed

Be important

Ha,  what sound

From what foam

Bubbling from a stream

Laugh like an old man

Count the cats

And sometimes 

This is enough

Birds float by the sun

What sometimes

And, lastly, and all to well

What have I done

Fallen asleep 

Like everyone.

Roller Rink Sadness

I am forever forgetting

That these last few laps

Were pathetic. The disco 

Ball and swirling organ

Music has kept me off

My game. Will I ever

Make it back to one

Line of thought. Or

Will I continue on

this film loop? 

Tape slapping against 

the reel. One last round

You are still beautiful 

But I don’t play you anymore 

From Beautiful Locks

For seven miles we hoofed it

Chasing after a good idea
The waters stopped searching
For the ocean and puddled
I poured myself a mule
A wounded mule wiped
From beautiful locks.

What I poured myself
For seven miles 
Charm on a dog

Sugar-lined streets 

And a good idea
Were eyes prettier
Then the look
Of a sandwich
Grabbed at the hardware 

And then home to the snake-bite

Or a quatrain on love
Amber waves a mantra

Clear as the bottom of a lake
Where you and I were 

Charged with swimming.

Like the Buddhist

Like the Buddhist

I do not believe 

in the afterlife

but on Sundays 

When the bells ring

 in the lonely town

 of Leverett

And there are

Those I know 

Burried nearby

I stop to hear

Not their dirge

Though their names

Be in it

But rather

I would like to think

Our secret pond

That one time

We swam

A car ride

For Chinese food

Or our beautiful walk

For coffee and ice cream 

The back and forth

Of just you and me rocking

Moving through it all

And to call it out 

As a blessing 

tragically blessed.