sitting. out back.

sunset valley 50

sitting.
out back.
among
the meringue
gardenias.
the common
sense of a sunset.
to share this
obliging silence.
this stream of
engulf.
this valley dusk.
made canyon.
without you.

 

Photo: pixels.com

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Days Written In Water

indianapublicmedia.com 50

Trees
clapping rhythms
for which we had
no music, days were
written in water
as you kept driving,
each of us rolling
down the windows
to see the small
town Madrids,
through increasing
torrents, with our
guide book
dogeared for all
the yesterdays.

 

Photo: indianapublicmedia.org

Saffron

For those of you missing loved ones…

I buy things I don’t need because
I need you. A fountain pen, spicy
mustard, a forestry magazine.
I walked into the tobacco store

at the mall, smelled the smoked
cheeses at Ogelvie’s, wore three
different colognes home, but you
didn’t appear. It’s raining, pouring

milk over rice cereal, I’m missing
you. I fell in love with you next
Tuesday when it snowed. And
you let me cut into the line because

“a cookbook is urgent…” like a
second soldering iron, a heavy bag
of peat and saffron.