Too Late
Late evening light sorts the leaves of an old apple tree beside the backyard deck an heirloom variety whose name I almost recall… Pippin. Newton Pippin. Grown…
The Unchosen
not mine exactly, those unchosen remaining in the odd half-life of possibles careers considered and abandoned their corridors un-walked my tread a ghostly absence among…
What Rousseau Knew about Solitude
https://www.theparisreview.org/blog/2020/04/27/what-rousseau-knew-about-solitude/? A great writer misunderstanding solitude points readers toward a deeper, true understanding.
A Life Novel
Reading a few lines almost at random turning pages by handfuls in a paperback left on a counter in…
A Few Chorus Lines
She’d set up her mental easel high on the beach where compliant sand would give an inch or so in welcome she’d wait for the…
Waiting for an Index
We’re wondering if it will yet appear or merely stiff us empty like Godot a life’s concise index foot-loose searchable by whim or purpose indiscrete…
Mirror Face
Bars across the mirror partially obscured his face he looks older, weary, wary battered but not defeated expecting another blow gives no hint…
Sunday Liberty
The week would gather Sunday to free itself. Each day had a gathering task one would bring a poem another choose a location…
Axis Excess
Let me graph it for you, she said and went to find some paper covered with…
The Dog Star 