The Days Like Apples

We were young and the days
like apples ripened in our hands –
so sweet we only wanted to believe.

Our successes grew easy like weeds
that shade a drought-garden. Grew
so even, we had plenty when winter
came. And this was what we knew
of life – the sugar.

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The Care and Feeding of Clouds

He showers in much the way
one constructs a cloud, arms
hectic like a conductor. He
assembles mists on moors

there in the bathroom each
morning. When he hears fog
horns, he returns never having
been gone, but traveling a vast
distance.

If You’ve Forgotten Summer

Summer is delicate with the lace
of wings come home. It remembers
the page, the stanza, the line where
it left off. It doesn’t rest until it makes
over beaches, brews iced coffee

and writes several bestsellers. It’s the
water park, the roller coaster, the
sci-fi thriller. And it begins as limitless
brushstrokes of feathers returning.