The Water

The water turns here
by rote – a recitation
plump with gurgle
and moonwork

no one can say
why this turn,
I like to think
it followed a swift
changing its mind,

that it enjoyed
its tap shoes
on these rocks,

that an ambling lazy
afternoon, for moments,
became a stream

The Dog Wants A Burger, a poem

We walk on the beach
one of us wrestles seaweed
The tide goes out
one us says, God’s speed!

We run into other dogs
one of us pretends I’m not there
I suggest some restraint
one of us flies through the air

One of us gets a burger
on the ride home
I suggest the ball
One of us wants a bone