Gray pavement glistens.
Rain anoints guttered leaves. Steam
swells over coffee.
poetry
Theory of Special Relativity
Maybe distances used to simply be too
distant. Falseness could traverse the globe
for centuries,
be rediscovered on worm-ravaged parchment,
and accepted as historically accurate.
In less than
the width of a single eyelash,
the muted click of a keyboard,
lies now damage
everyone at the same time.
Epitaph for Robert
Written in January 1972 when he and I were sixteen years old.
Haiku 11.4
Hallway body slam
thunders sleeping eyes open.
Addled, all time stops.
Haiku 11.3
See, if we turn both
our chairs this way, it will seem
a different world
Precipitation
Rain
presses wet leaves against windows,
batters gray-guttered snow into drains,
beads on the eyeglasses of cabbies and mail carriers,
pelts the round shoulders of the old,
and strafes the last, stalwart blossoms
finally to the sidewalk, never asking
for forgiveness or gratitude.
It never asks even
for acceptance.
Haiku 11.1
Restoring demon
to saint is less noticed than
Standard to Daylight
Haiku 10.31
Trudging up the stairs
second shift worker gets home,
wet shoes by the door.
The Weaver
Lost Cat
brief salvage 