everyday is another day
the sun rises and sets
the dogs bark at squirrels
fear festers far away
like a fetid pool filled
with dead and dying fish
(February 11, 2026)
Category: life
-
Maise, our dog, lounges on the over-stuffed arm
of the old leather chair which squats squarely
next to a bare window in the front room.
The late afternoon sun pours bright puddles
of warmth on the floor for her to bathe in;
and from which, if inclined, she may muster
yips and growls at people slowly walking
their sweatered dogs on the sidewalk outside.
I fear falling on ice still lingering
on neighborhood paths, so we stay inside.
But that is just an excuse, I hate cold
weather as much as I tolerate heat’s
dominion during the long summer months.
Even when I, like this poem, go nowhere.
-
no one is home
no one sits in the dark
alone
no one waits for the keyto slip in the lock
and turn with a click
no door openswith a repressed
creak
no one is leftto ask for explanations
but you
no one but youand it is late
and the house is dark
(January 23, 2026)
-
In this dream,
I unfold other maps
between petulant winds.
In this place, I am known,but not by this name,
not in this direction.
I have lost my way.It was a mistake
to come here today.
Ignorance always wins,because it does not know
it lost long ago.
Tracing a vein in my arm,I find a way home.
(January 17, 2026)
-
inevitable
by
I make our dinner—
noodles with snow peas and shrimp.
She is not hungry.
We have forgottenhow many times we’ve been here.
Decades of hope lost.
Another year ends—Our pensions are still enough;
the night darkly falls.
We drink to forget—Tonight we dance a circle;
again, we are here.
Again, day falls into night.Life is inevitable.
(New Year’s Eve, 2025)
-
There is a difference he implied
between what you do— (write
your poems), and this book—
which had been published
and which he now held out
(like a capitalist Eucharist)
before him as empirical evidence
of his claim’s veracity; the attention
toward profundity, cannot simply be.
Cannot simply happen. As if
there were no luminescence
inherent in the creative act,
no value to the happenstance.
Yet it does happen,
as we happen. The ineffable silence
fills in what cannot be said—
no matter the credentials, or what
god waits to make the first move.
The writing, the process, the evolution
of the text opens the word into light,
and power, and even glory
as has been done forever and ever.
(December 23, 2025)
-
It’s the lopsided charm
of this day’s superlatives—
the shortest day,
the longest night,
which for millennia
provided power
to the metaphor
for hope to console us
with heavenly promise
that peace will return
as easily as morning light
washes over dark stone.
(Winter Solstice, December 21, 2025)
-
It happens right here
in front of us:
close enough to feel
the blood splatter;
close enough to hear
her lungs wheeze;
close enough to smell
the rusty wet iron.
We shrug and move on.What’s there to do?
But scream,
and point fingers;
then wake up to start
another day in America.
(December 25, 2025)
-
a turn away
from pursuit
from a life
from himself
an escapefrom others
from definition
from self-immolation
a denialof projection
of supposition
of expectation
a purgeof arrogance
of shame
of the soul’s anger
a beliefin the present
in hope
in simplicity
a meaningin the chaos
in the day
in himself
a directiontoward difference
toward laughter
toward each other
a movementtoward trust
toward friends
toward love
(December 9, 2025)
-
rain
by
a soft drought-ending rain
falls overnight
and into the morning
one liveswithin the moment
only
when one understandsthere is nothing
to stand under
and lets the rainwithout metaphor
wash over you
(December 8, 2025)
-
Today as I do most days
for the last fifty years,
I write the life
I have left to me.
Most days I have little
to say of consequence;
yet, I continue
to rattle along
with a naive trust
tomorrow will arrive
trembling with nascent rage.
(November 28, 2025)
-
memento mori
by
and soon enough
your last tomorrow
will arrive
you will ask afterthe time, then shrug,
“that can’t be right”
but it isand it has
and you’re not
(November 7, 2025)
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