Just Below the Adirondacks

You prefer the visions of the gardens with the venders in sight
The Adirondack chairs that are still for sale outside the barn
with a few early stars opening to a New England down town
If we weren’t at war I’d think that this poem had permission
to have a few oranges strung about it. Out of our navels
Come the blue organs. Come the nice book stores that you might
find this poem in. The floor boards creaking a little as the
many shoes step and pass, a girl who should be the next Carrie St.
George Comer stops by. And through the pie and coffee
and sometimes tea words sparkle like the dotted lights
in the harbor. One by one the rowers row their fragile blades
downward into a sea in hopes to sully something more generous
like tiny white twigs, or elusive shoals of wolves until something smaller
caves in. We are all reading and reading nothing pasted. Not even a noteboard
with things happening, happening, have happened or ending soon.

Plea in Autumn

Lover, common scrap of paper,
I didn’t mean to throw the interception

The crossing pattern never came together
Not even being reflective in a private

Reservoir with trickles of melancholy
Photographs helped. Time was the snow

Battered the afternoon and little
By little the whole field got all wound up

We didn’t even have to be clever or
give a cent to the drunks apocrypha.

Culture would occupy the clover and that
would be as fine as an old movie on girl’s night out.

Besides, the good luck committee is selling garland
Someone fetch a ladder.

Like someone knowing the price
Of a relic, I can’t wait until the next

Scrimmage. We can carry our cleats
Down to the goal post

And should
we pause at the beginning of this

long pilgrimage we could jot down a
beautiful childhood.

Tiny Seed Notebook

Tiny seed ideas:
at the Beach

Christmas Morning
a movie

At School

Snow
Library
Christmas Eve

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