he was a scorpion sting away from a desert metanoia




Night rain on Windsor Avenue
sycamore trees awash
in their own perfume 




the others haven't arrived, the silver maple waits with me



he doesn't think they'll put snow fences up this year



the tough knots of self-entanglement




the dog has found his spot




contemplating the potential lethality of today's activities 




football fields where I put my dinosaurs down for naps



teaching me to pronounce Demosthenes



say, Ethiopia, three times...
I've been doing it
all day!


Don Juan's Reckless Daughter's here, 
and we get wine delivered
to the front door



pale green kitchen archive of shuffling slippers across the linoleum floor




joining the general fate of all five-hour bus riders