From Uncomfortable Minds:

Poetry’s Problem

So it’s not

music. So it wants

to sing and can’t. So it’s

not a Klimt that

takes your breath before

you blink. Don’t you have to get

it before you get it? How,

at the starting gate,

can you tell if it’s a long

suffering memoir, flash

fiction fantasy, leftist political

diatribe, or the minimalist deep

image moment when moonlight hits

dew on the rail just

before daybreak? Doesn’t it only

transform when

it strikes the just

so chord along the sound

board of my crooked spine. It

has to remind me her eyes

flashed with a green that was worth

the heartbreak of loving her, no matter

it ended badly outside a garage

studio in an electric storm.

Loons, shearwaters, terns

and cormorants: a feeding

floating congregation

bobs and dives into the glassy

calm with a bottlenose

dolphin that indulges

and sates on schooled, mirrored

muscle and flash. A brown

pelican gains altitude to glide

forever before its wing

tip nearly grazes a blossoming

wave: is it

true, despite my

suspicions, that delight underlies


Loosely Tied

What thin breath holds me to all

this? My heart’s uneven

rhythm? A balloon by a string

loosely tied to a child’s

hand. This marriage

she and I have

honed, mostly common moments

strung together. Above

all, our beings wrap around

each other in this friendship. We pretend

permanence. Silk

scarf in a faint breeze.