Five Minutes Before 7 AM

and I’m awake-
the alarm has not yet rung.

No schedule for these moments,
no calls from mom,
this liminal state between sleep and dress
just me, the darkness, the lingering warmth
of a night’s rest, the chill morning
kept at bay in here.
The mind wanders,
not to things that need to be done,
to more important things –
Of kittens and kiwis, of angels
and anemones, thoughts
of potential and thoughts of –

The alarm has rung.

Not Quite A Masterpiece

The clouds in the sky were splotchy, scraped around too thin
and there were too many colors in your eyes.
I think the shadows were a bit deeper than I expected,
your face was so many hues of violet, and I realize
now the many things I could have said,
the better words, the
lines a poet might have conjured.
You were splashed all with crimson like the
uneven tracks of something injured in the snow –
but I didn’t know. I didn’t know what
could have caused you so much pain,
but the reflection was right there, immortalized:
amateur at best, honest at worst,
staring right back at me from the riot in your eyes.


The startling scream
like one shocked from a dream,
the feathers, the flight
dangerously downward,
like free-falling knives
to puncture the lake
as a shot mirror breaks,
the shards ripple out
in a moment of doubt,
the wings skip a beat
and the catch is complete.

He emerges, reborn,
a corkscrew of motion
writhing, wriggling
like old film distortion,
until his feathers dry out.
a good day for the seahawk
is a bad day for the trout.

Airplane Crash

It was only in the air for half an hour
Two men, a woman, screams without power,
a terrible sound, an engine’s sputter,
and down, down, down
gently as a maple seed swirls,
descending the heavenly boundaries,
rejoining our world
in fire, in screams,
in far-flung steel,
the rainbow of sirens,
the ambulance squeal,
and a boy, a brother,
snuck away from his mother,
and found in the wreckage beneath a tall tree
a boot, a foot,
a grim memory.


The children have the brightness of youth in their eyes,
the parents, with painted-on smiles, abide
and post, promenade on the screens;
the cold blue light drowns the flicker of dreams.

The beautiful people, their beautiful homes,
their gorgeous lovers and all that they own,
the tears are cut and left on the floor,
We see but a window and believe it’s a door.

solemn apex

We know the sunrise is just over the river,
there’s a crispness in the air,
we’ve been awake for thirty-six hours now
You keep wrapping your fingers up with my hair.
I told you that I love you.
This is a good lesson for me to learn:
something I can bury deep in my heart
can break loose, knock the whole world apart.

We know the sunrise is just over the river,
and talk about the times when
last we felt a warmth inside.
Sometimes happiness is just physical sensations,
Heat in the ribs, eyes opened wide,
and the sweet and subtle implications of
a coming sunrise.