For the boy in the moon who never grew up Let his mobile be the stars Let him gaze at our crayon blue and green world a little longer Until colors fade and we no longer see him look

The flowering dogwood, its roots  encased in concrete, sends skyward its shoots; each new branch striving  for drops of rain and flecks of sun.   And I am reminded of every little death between us; of all the sentences

Mesmerized by the silver clipper and certain sound, we bend to the task.   The dimples have disappeared from her knuckles, but her fingertips are still the size of Navy beans.  Still, I can say “pinky” and “pointer” without

                                                                             

                           limping to a quiet table                             in Solaris Lounge smelling of the sea  

Here’s the thing, God. I am alright with death. Sort of.          Really not so much. Actually not at all. Not a bad idea in principle. Too many people crowding limited real estate.          Elbowing each other for a

The first thing I noticed when I returned home was that I had been gone for too long. My body has forgotten what it’s like to be cold, to sit in that tranquil veil of chill and lie oh-so-perfectly