the moment autumn could be spring moonflowers
light rain
the stray cat looks at me
and carries on
rain stops the silent half of the seesaw
soon we’ll leave
soon after
yellow leaves
shake off the weight of sleep and say it yellow leaves
picking up a heavy book
the floor no longer lava
a little dish for pills where no moss grows
the crows silent suddenly bare oaks
autumn still so green a gleaming fork in the road
no one looking I still try to push the clouds
a patch of grey and now the whole sky grinding my teeth again
the weight of the pen
as I do nothing
autumn
the sound of gentle rain and bacon
back from the island the air of our home
squirrels
running away
from everything
bright blue of the recycling bin someone else’s Labor Day
morning sun the silver of the spider’s night work
faintest wind chimes pine cones at the end of summer
dust in the autumn wind footprints on the moon
the rise of mountains my golden mistake
wind beats the leaves I trust the long journey of blood
a dog eating grass in the rain peonies droop
dawn chorus the clicks of supplements in a tiny bowl
now and then dragonflies tempt me into the sun
humid night the star’s bad grammar wears me away
another cup of tea I didn’t taste summer clouds
fog in the rainy night my full moon cufflinks
heat wave again someone pushing me under water
my morning scrambled the trail a garbage truck makes
tickle of an idea
a goldfinch hangs
from a sunflower
heavy skins that once walked these woods autumn
how our bodies work so the ocean has salt
the breeze reshuffles my bungalow in the clouds
a seagull skims the ocean’s old manifesto
summer evening years ago the poem I wrote to her clavicle
shadows of grasshoppers again trying to talk to trees
deep in the living room in the mirror my wife’s leg
early light lost in a amaze of sparrows
small pile of foreign coins rumble of thunder
favorite song long black talons in the small hours
a tower of books topples spring breeze
hoping to one day use the word jacaranda
opening ceremony of insomnia half moon
counting the hairs of my body the poem of thunder
misty morning I redraw the world with one black pen
slowly fading the snow capped ridge of my scar
floating down the river you have to start somewhere
so many masks in a day between animal clouds
green apples words of power for the old computer
superstition the small wings of sparrows
how I study to spell fluorescent smoke rises
seagulls circle and cry high above the empty mall
whispering to spiders echoes of my father’s sarcasm
a sweet thing to say in the dust insect parts
another dimension of my moan straight lines of salt
other animals 