A Good October for Maples
A good October for maples—it must have been.
I did not think: next October will be faded.
Category: Poetry
Hunters Strode the Woods Behind My House
I found their shells
plastic empty red
We Cannot Be Sure
We cannot be sure if he has left or if only we no longer hear of him.
Everyone on the radio speaks in a new style
That Spring
I cannot say what anyone wore. Were skirts
about the knee? Was it the year of crochet
Untitled
On this coast houses are clearly references.
One winter was for a long while like the last.
Sea Poem for Occupy
From the sand cliffs where the math
confronting us takes on the blue
of distance you can watch for days
