On Cortelyou summer children shriek and hurl / ice left after the market stands close up. / Cold crystals scatter across the steaming sidewalk.
April means it’s almost time / to leave. It’s the feeling that / this afternoon like everything
I wanted to touch everything in Cherry / Grove: someone’s elaborate ass, tattooed / with an expressionless pair of eyes —
Ted says plucking / the feathers from a chicken / feels like pulling up blades
On my way to the video store sheets of ice / cover puddles like wrinkles patterning / the corner of an eye. I’m on my way
I Was Never Sure
cloud / cloud / cloud
Under the damp canopies of Ditmas Park / I turn my head up to the lilacs heavy / with rainwater and their delicate smell.
Inside the Columbarium I climb slowly up, / circle the dome and peer into the vaults: / glassed off dioramas of loss and left behind:
The Bath, The Journey
It is very late. / Before you leave for good I dream / I returned to Mars where we’d been before.
This Morning In The House It’s Me
and the lonely ghosts, always moving / the french press from where you’d put it / or leaving the light on in the staircase
Page 1 of 2