We thought it was surprise snow,
in June, in middle America,
because we were young
and didn't know any better,
the two of us, barely still boys,
in that old Buick, barreling back
to New England, from Madison,
the mission to Wisconsin
to woo her back, a failed one,
but still, a college break adventure,
and it was a swarm of bugs, not flakes,
a night cloud of them knocking glass
and waking us up so fully with surprise
we finally laughed at it all, and that's
what we still remember the most:
the storm of insects clouding our view
as we drove east, back towards home
for #openwrite
Deception, then:
this morning's quiet
is anything but, as I
listen more closely,
to hear:
the high frequency hum of the fridge
the punctuated sound of the sump pump
the whooshing of dehumidifier, cycling on/off
the singing of birds through an open window
the long sigh of the dog stretching on the couch
the lone car, decelerating, a voice on radio
the daily newspaper landing on driveway
I sit, sip and write
for #DS106 Daily Create
Even broken strings
on an old broken
guitar sing in deep repose;
the memory thrums -
the hand strums
an architecture of notes
Somewhere, that familiar song
still plays in a broken
key; its resonance, floats
for #OpenWrite
Inked words
stumble
on the page
What I mean
to say is that a poem
takes shape
different on paper
than a screen —
I am forever
in revision
in the words
in-between
for #ds106 Daily Create (handwritten poem)
https://flic.kr/p/2rhm1cK
Finally: heat breaks;
we cool off with our eyes closed,
drinking in the air
Her response levies
passionate fireworks and
exclamation points
A doorway,
opened rather
unexpectedly -
the tongue
constructs a map
of the space
between where
words escape,
our stories
(post-tooth extraction poem)
Night's tidal currents
push and pull the shifting sands;
sculptures by morning
Heaven Help Us:
There Are Rivers
In The Sky -
Signs Of Life -
Atmosphere Belonging
Book Spine Poetry for #ds106
The land drinks quick
of the water gift of clouds;
its parched lips, glisten