The winds and steady rain
came last night
tugging on the leafs connection
between spring and
the colder now
So many connections
broken witnessed by
leaves unteathered scattered
across wet pavement

I feel disconnected these days
separation between me
and familiar joys
and easy distractions
Now I find myself
fading emptying
delicate veins appearing
praying for a spring that
will be too long coming

There is No Moon in the City

The street scape
rises from the 
concrete earth
to castle walls
of glass
The parapets 
roof decks
and metal spires
No soldiers
to keep us in or out
And we flood in
to the castle walls
and flood out when 
we are though 
with it’s pleasures
Or stay with its pains
The birds that 
brightly speak
of an early morn are
drowned out by
trucks carrying 
industry and garbage
The dwellers that stay
speak little to
one another
We here bow to 
the King of proximity
We are all always
going somewhere
hearts carefully 
screened in
disquiet blocked out
The sun chooses 
street sides to find us 
or rebounds off walls
into our windows
And unless you 
happen to catch
it’s spritely aspect
perched on a 
there is no moon 
in the city

Found Things

There is a magic 
to found things
They all have a story
be it great or small
I prefer the objects with 
the great story-
the ones I imagine
could be true
The quarter dropped
from an immigrant pocket
It was the last quarter he had
until he found the job
that he desperately hoped to find
the one no one else wanted
because it meant
he wouldn’t have to go back
Or the train ticket
from points south to Seattle
They called them queer
and weird and wrong
Now they just call them Jo
And finally 
a single red mitten
kind of grubby
She won’t need it
A battle-worn woman
gave her a ride
to a warm building 
where they will 
help her fight
the cataclysmic
forces that have tyrannized
her since she was 15

Each found sidewalk object
the worlds detritus
Stories littering sidewalks
Can you imagine 
these mere scraps 
as lives found, possibilities
found and futures found?


In the big city
quiet is always 
on the run
It hides behind 
the biggest barriers
hoping to not be heard
It flees from the cranes 
and the jackhammers
It slides noiselessly 
behind a man in tatters 
who gives voice
to confusion and fear
wanting to help 
It pretends it isn’t there
when the anger behind 
the megaphones blast
reverberating walls
It scoots away at the 
last moment from
shrieking college students
that wander the night
who shove glee out from behind 
the stack of books crammed 
into their brains
It only peers out 
after all are asleep
and makes itself
unheard bounding from 
block to block 
disregarding stoplights
and empty crosswalks