Interstices Filtered through intervening time, fleeting seconds march to B minor cadence, written on the sky, ephemeral and…
Final Cut of the Season What species of grass is it that smells so sweet when shorn? Fine fescue? Kentucky…
Bridge over 15 Mile Creek --Dufur, Oregon The night’s velvet hands guide us under a moon not quite full but…
France, 1990 The pan-fried, half-moon, butter-browned omelet was richer than Versailles’ cold mirrors, stark shrubs, boudoir cherubs, pebbled- walks, or…
Hunnered In Shetland, that’s the word for weary, exhausted, bone tired, as we say here in Oregon, about to fold.…
Link --after Carel Fabritius’ The Goldfinch My mother looks out the patio doors, Her tears a torrent, enough to overflow…
Where the Train Meets the Sun It’s six thirty at Sacramento Station, ghost Misty rice fields sleep. I touch your…
It's Come to This In the neighbor’s back field, the adopted wild Appaloosa whinnies, then kicks the old Chestnut mare…