Gutter

Swallowing rivers 

of rain, a sidewalk’s dark mouth 

gurgles vacantly

Chalkboard Sky

Streaks of cloudy dust 
decorate a slate that was 
briefly meant for us

Sunday

Walking the dog 
the your speed sign 
blank

Hitchhiker

Standing on the curb:
A beat-up secretary 
Looking for a lift

Undertones

Red wine at dusk 
a leaf corkscrews 
to the earth 

Camouflage

The sky in tatters —
the rocks changing their color
as a cloud passes

Sundial

As the sun sinks
the volume of the ocean
increases

Charity

Rain on Christmas Eve —
loose change clinking 
in a red kettle

Ribcage

The bird with red wings 
That perched on the little swing 
Has long stopped singing

DNF

Tucked in an old book
an unused invitation 
to my first wedding 

Nursery

Cradled in the boughs 
of rocking trees, the orphaned 
sunlight falls asleep. 

Steam

Caterpillar — 
A train whistles 
In the distance

Spin Cycle

My clothes going 

around in circles — 

my thoughts laid bare

Double Exposure

My window at dusk — 
soon I will take over 
the world 

Gravity

Hourglass — 
if only all I had to do 
was turn you over 

Repercussions

Door knocker — 
always expecting 
Marley

Movie Magic

Trading Places — 
the Twin Towers back
where they were

Pan

The sun declines by slow degrees and sets. 
Out in the yard, a little boy forgets
He’s not alone, and slices through a net 
Of shadows with a stick in silhouette. 

Page for an Abecedarium

S is for this swan, 
Swimming at the break of dawn 
In a flowing font. 

The News

Oh my God everything 
is happening!

Ruins

The columns like half melted candlesticks 
With setting sunlight flicker, glow and drip, 
Growing slowly shorter until one quick,
Cold gust snuffs out the flames upon their wicks. 

The wax congeals in nearly shapeless bricks 
Around their bases; clouds of smoke eclipse 
The moon and stars; and statues by a trick 
Of shadows stir and part their frozen lips. 

Ex-Delivery Boy

I heard a motorcycle’s roar 
Diminish differently 
The night I heard the Lord had ordered
Meat Loaf at the feast. 

Obstacles

Staring at the ceiling — 
The constellations wheeling 
Past the plaster. 

Daffodils

Like a big brass band, 
Their trumpets started jumping 
In a blast of wind. 

Spirit Level

The statues in the Fields of Grammary, 

The coffins, too, are precious porphyry, 
And glitter on their pedestals at night, 
Or in their niches, seen by candlelight. 

Whose masks they wear, or slowly mouldering bones 
They cradle, are less conscious than the stone, 
And day and night, the sunshine and the rain, 
Alone or not, to them is all the same. 

Anatomical Model

The fake skeleton 
Had adopted the classic 
Brazen hussy stare. 

Dad Rock

Who is Billy and 
Why is his eyelash on the 
Cover of Rolling Stone? 

Swastika

Piece of a labyrinth. 
Chalk outline of a hit-and-run 
With broken limbs. 

Ex Machina

The ghostly oil-stain 
Lying in the driveway looked 
Strangely human-shaped. 

Slipping

The Mona Lisa 
Up close — her famous composure 
Starting to crack

Stalling

Late for work —
Even the car 
Not wanting to go