When I look out at sea
I dream of you
Of another life we could lead
I dream of you
Like a moonbeam In the rain
Like a fantasy, like a pain
I dream of you
It's an easy careful dream
And if dreams were true
I hope,
You'll Dream of me too
Out of this nightfall
two white trucks nose-to-nose, or
were they always there?
Two young women kiss
and just so, the storm passes…
the laughter and glass.
All my life I dreamed
of glory but I don’t know it
sitting awake.
Raindrops fill a pond
in the parking lot, size of
a lake, to an ant.
The edge of the storm
black, moving fast to the north,
sunlight past the hill.
Ice cream, 2 am
This particular
shifting of the rain, I am
just in time for it.
Lemon-drop lamp
and its wavering life
reflected in the chai.
Scrawlings, backwards,
in the glass, in the sun,
downtown escalator
Red clouds catching sun,
the hole at Sixth Avenue
dark in minutes.
“Red cells save lives”
reads the bus for the blood drive–
black letters on white.
It’s happened again
Anniversary…
their teeth can now kiss
without their mouths
Such language,
the battered can
rolling north
The horse
and the spider,
either side of the field
My thumb against
the heel of my other hand…
slowed pulse
I’m risky,
rain on my stubble
and breath
One broken blade
She giggles
at her grey pubic hair
through new glasses
An old film…
the youth’s curly leg hair
vanishes mid-thigh
An ambulance waits…
little girl rides a scooter
in ellipses
Coke bottles
clink in his square basket…
pedaling home
He pressure-washes
into the windstorm…
prancing spray-ghosts
Tuscon
First of July…
rain sounds but no rain,
back of the bus
That tree
thinks about what the wind
might do next
Third of July,
ice blocks the pitcher’s spout…
corkscrewed Diet Coke
tanka:
Projector:
Ticks
of the uptake reel
spinning alone…
story’s end wears thin
A quiet heat…
My window ticks once
at a brushstroke from the rain
wind keepsakes the rest
But how many friends
can you have, if all you see
fills all that you know?
Banana milk, drunk
years ago, long-dead diner
returns to my tongue
The night crests morning
only my two stinky feet
keep me company
Teakettle whistles,
but it’s in another room
along with my mind
How proud of my words!
Siren through the rain
high-pitched howl and soft spatter
gone, both, for morning
I kiss these red lips
and put them back in their box
wax plugs my nostrils
Teach an idiot
to write haiku; do you still
have an idiot?
A child’s persimmon
half eaten, half-sticky, slid
between two cushions
Huge green umbrella
swallows his slim form whole at
the Ave’s last pay phone
Splash–drench bicycle!
Ash tree scratches air
outside the window still lit
after 3 am
One bright orange balloon
from the bunch, lost to the wind…
the sky’s only color
Two woolly afghans
curled by knees on the bed
kept close; that’s enough
Starlight, come how far
to glisten at the edges
of my open blinds
History is made
about two blocks south of here
I’m warm in the dark
History? Foolish.
After I finish
scribing him through my keyboard
the gas man plods on.
Sun in the right spot
to light up King Street Station
sloped roof, shiny green.
In the middle lane,
in the middle of the lane,
one lone prone ladder.
Blind man folds dried laundry
his long cane propped on a slant
against the doorway.
For a split second
I thought she was calling
to say she loves me.
Feeling Lester’s ghost
He throws a quarter
and a dime, into the sun
clutching chardonnay.
Rain drips down the ledge
my friend sleeps in the back room
two hours to sundown
Southbound SUVs
caught in mid-morning commute
are varispeed snails.
I could wager on
which stone a raindrop might strike
and lose yet again.
Late-night bus tunnel
forgotten, tomorrow
the blue of train 16
Four green lights hang back
Sweat collecting on
the heel of my right hand
dampens the denim
I remind myself
not to expect friendship
there, that’s better.
Bellevue bus banner
“8 restaurants to choose from”
the pigeon pecks crumbs
The Fourth of July
means nothing to me this year
but thick, rolling booms.
One table, one man
eating a bean from a plate
outside, history
The fire station flag