Leaving

I found the first of the season's leaving
on the seat of the car
whose windows I had forgotten to close:
One red drop.
Thank God it isn't winter.

August 28 2014

Comfort in Tiles

I was in a state contiguous to wakefulness
far longer than I really understood.
The science test seemed mostly made of wood
I had mismeasured,
and I had no ruler to help me with the answers.
Long after I should have 
I staggered from my bed to find relief
(ha ha)
in the lighted island bathroom
where the tiles were reassuring.
We are so solid, they said;
you don't need to fear those phantoms.
Take Tylenol. Soon you will sleep
and the test will be taken by someone else--
more competent, perhaps, but you at least
will be in dark, and happy.

August 23 2014

Revolution

The hips are red as new blood on the thorny branch.
The leaves show their silver armor to the harrying wind.
This morning: Canada geese, on maneuvers.
The heat maintains its hostile occupation,
but drumming rain beats a call to independence.
Mutinous rumbles --
rumble


    rumble
rumble
-- precede the fall of Summer
and the ragtag rise of Fall.

August 18 2014

Puppet

If I'm a puppet
dancing on strings that I hold,
at least it's my show.

August 8 2014

Lo, I Am Given

Lo, I am given a family,
and like a cup it holds me,
uplifting and forgiving me,
and like a cup I lift it up,
for giving me this family
is like a cup running over.

August 5 2014