poems

• When the Cold

  When the cold

  moves

  in

  to the alcoves

  between your toes

  and stays there

  like trouble

  all

  night,

  sleep comes

  recommending deeper

  dreams.

  The capacity to feel

  is mightier than

  boredom.

  I walk

  along the right

  leg of endeavor

  toward the belly

  of compromise

  where

  I’ll stop

  and surreptitiously

  tickle

  the business

  acumen of animal.

• Vocation

  Building the ark

  of my offspring

  to carry me

  on a cooing

  through every dark.

• Composeur

  How many shins

  must weakness show

  for a shoo-win,

  is creeky math;

  powerful though.

• The Neverending West

  Lackawanna

  sign across the

  Hudson River,

  shining through a

  crack in resolve.

• Darning the Interval

  The conjecture of a form

  is a cage where chaos preys

  on implicitly the walls

  with overt fingers.

• Flubbing My Lines

  
  When the vision was

  gone, I could still smell its tune

  in the air.

  
  I had been afraid

  of almost everything but

  the supernatural, until then.

• Plan B

  All the key

  words

  on the ring

  have been tried,

  and the good

  remains

  locked

  on Gulliver’s

  side. I have

  a frontrunner

  in mind

  for the part

  of

  avalanche

  chaser

  in

  a thought

  experiment,

  who

  might

  also keep

  trees.

  The water,

  before it seas,

  carries the name

  of every rose

  we lose

  to the news.

• Winter Wist

  I’m too well-scarved

  to even speak,

  so I bow thank

  you to the pique

  of wonder carved.

• Inner Piece

  After the war

  a soldier wears

  an amber skin,

  her frozen core

  shuddering still.

• Project X

  The trailmix is almost gone

  and I have a big blister,

  and we are completely lost

  in the beautiful.