Poems

Anticipation is the soft cross
Upon which we hope to bare

Ourselves as we are borne
(“love”) into frenzy rapture resignation… read more

What is pleasing to her
is the allure of possibilities.

And if she could say
“the river is chartreuse” or “it’s the yellow
of rhododendron”… read more

It is a portrait of a mother and daughter,
The mother in a blue bathrobe, standing
behind her little girl, hands on her shoulders

Once I believed it was a cocoon, the deep
colors spun around a gesture, half-indicated-
just begun to unravel between them. A flower’s… read more

As she died, she became more beautiful.
That afternoon I saw her, near the end
of summer- she looked re-made, a pure echo
of herself, a voice thrown back from a great

distance within- but clear, resonant. She wanted
to live. Her hair had grown back in a shining
curve and her face revealed nothing of her suffering-
she looked young, expectant. But then, how else was… read more

As if memory were the night sky

For weeks I had been living in the auroras
Of past regards

Walking each evening through the expressionistic
Negatives of what had been the album…. read more