The fir wood is barely discernible through the fog, as we sit sipping coffee on the dock. There is a hush settling around us, but for the frogs, as, slowly, a moonbeam breaks through. It trips across the unbroken surface of the lake, dancing on…

I was ten and this year was so boring To write of it would leave us both snoring. Outside my window, the rain is pouring. I hope soon to feel the thunder roaring.

A song written from the heart A song written at all A song The words put to a melody A melody that cannot be explained The music that causes feelings to explode within How can anyone simply listen to a song Music is the expression…

Unwind the chords that have bound you My love String them from your mouth And tie them to your heart To hear the sound resonate The sound Of your soul breaking free The crash, swish, and clatter Ringing against your ribs Tearing from your lips…

While everyone was sleeping We sat by the June bonfire Scaring off the darkness And watched it play out a scene of elephants marching And a queen perched high Wooing her loyal subjects   In the campground So manicured we couldn’t even find A stick…

I’ve never met water that I didn’t love A calm morning ocean Pouring rain from above We are three fourths water But I think I may be more I am always drawn to any shore The smallest stream Or the widest river A mountain stream…

I Know This Much Is True   I am surrounded by lies and liars.   My social security number has not, in fact, been frozen, and I cannot lose weight by giving up bananas.   The president will not help me buy a home. The…

Selkie He stole my skin, my face Don’t romanticize my situation He has my soul On a shelf In a dry corner of the house   Let me go back to the sea’s hush To the cool blanket of fog Under a dock At dawn…

The dock at the lake home of grandparents was my summer hangout Monument of sturdy simplicity fir one-by-four planks nailed to two-by-four stud framing with number eight nails anchored on galvanized steel pipes fifty-feet from my bedroom window it would hide in morning fog refract…

In my right hand a pen, a passport, a sheaf of stories to fly me round the world   In my left hand a photo, messages, promises maybe, maybe this time, maybe he will.   In the center, a fool who can’t choose which hand…