You’re out there, I know it, and I’ll never meet you— never walk with you through April orchards, never duck in a doorway with you

While you in Italy study cherubs, at Autumn’s first slap of season’s colorful cold, the Swiss goats hunker in the run-down shed Hanoverians shelter on

You know to fear windowless white vans. You know a trunk’s as good as a coffin. You know to kick and bite and scream Like

are all over the floor. The front door is open and I should sweep them out. Instead, I close the door. My Brittany growls at

When I think of you, I part my lips imagine breathing you in like curls of smoke you exhale into my mouth standing in your

I know you didn’t see it coming all those years ago when you took up with him– the young guy, the one who knew the

                               I My brother told me this, in physics, when something

I sit on the worn tufted bench next to the fireplace The velvet fabric matches the last few drops in the glass of merlot Left

she’d scratch at the crossword each morning, Monday through Sunday, just after pouring his coffee. a dollop of milk. a snap of sugar. is it a

A voice breathes, Good Morning, at the side of the bed. I know that voice, birdsong enchantment, soft grace notes, enough to stir me from

Wife If we break It wouldn’t be from a fall, but from a whisper That echoes every time I hear silence Each time I wait

after Amelie (2001) dir. Jean-Pierre Jeunet I may not have bones made of glass, but I am unbearably lonely. But my heart is brittled and

I walk on the bridge between your eyes and stumble over branches on the railing. The heavy lumber is thick with overgrowth. Too many weeds

swallow down the blood, darling it’s nothing personal when i clench your jaws together                 you’re this casual

Young Love ~ If little by little you stop loving me. – Pablo Neruda I hope you remember, as I remember, breath suspended in your