"A Cocoon", 2004, Painting, oil on panel. Nikolay Sazhin.

How quickly the empty house began to decay
Without a soul to breathe within

Standing water around its foundation revealed
Decades of lonely tears

Crippled walls crash in and that timeworn
Way groans out in agony

The burrow vanquished, in its place
Will rise a new home

Oh, but the razing is neither death nor destruction
To a hollow, broken facade

The suffering is metamorphosis, beloved
You are being reborn




I was listening to
the song
stirring coffee with
a spoon in spoon
thought of my dream
nestled from
the night before
it was gold
and I found it
or stole it
how it glittered in
my thieving eyes
but wasn’t I caught
with it all in
my hands stained
gold and shaking
someone had to lose
and so it goes
stirring my coffee
I thought of you and
thought of
you robbed
of rose gold hair
and how she must’ve
and glittered in
your eyes
a song played
once again
over an empty cup
still stirring

What Lonely Place

what lonely place
greets her
with unimpressive walls
and carpet that
holds tight to a memory
of scent

the cat sleeps so
she speaks
to the fly instead and
tries to wrap her
mind around winged sisyphus
and hills

an old chair groans
anyone’s companion
for tea remains
reserved seating for the weight
of motes

there is a sound
to the cricket singing
she cups her hand
and puts it outside to find

Swirl Cone

Quit talking to myself about 50 miles back.
Wasn’t much in the mood to hear what I had to say.
But a little while up the road, I did stop by that
Soft-serve ice cream shack.
You know, the one I love so much? Yeah, well
I bought a swirl cone to say sorry for not listening.


The self-inflicting wound of bale
the also-ran
embraced in mucky baggage
like music
while you were good all along
is forgetting
the lyrics
of your very own song


For a Stone Marked: Faithful— William 1840-1884 — The Strife is O’er


You, forgettable in your space of stones
Among gray
Blurred throughout the years, wind
And rain
Have erased thought or any remembrance
Of goodness
Only grand, sweeping columns of wealth
Leave traces
Chiseled in the books of their life

You, forgettable in your rags of rough
Exhausted cloth
Aged beyond the years of the years
Wearied shoulders
Carry the weight of worry, the inescapable
Family burden
A duration cast in dust unable to hold
The mind
Destined to carry the slab since birth

You, forgettable in your slight space and
Invisible breath
Who claimed to love this marrow of
Infinite intent?
The craftsman of wind, the rain and
unwashed sweat
Says Up William! Join a celebration of
The meek
Where grand monuments vanish

You, unforgettable and beloved through
Immeasurable days
Well-known for a steadfast tread on an
Insolent earth
No more ache or tattered sorrows bound by
Burlap skin
Lifted high in unfailing hands— look and see
Good William
Your name written in the book of life


I surveyed the sunflowers
threaten to hug and squeeze
tight to keep
them from getting any bigger

laughing, shrug it off and run
outside to play
the sunshine of spring helped
them grow a little more

an open window my heart of
pollen scatters
diffuse in the breeze draping
a bittersweet veil on every little thing

I inspect the overgrown yard in
need of care
a leafless azalea vacant
among the unfolding green

a honeysuckle wrapped
verdant arms
around the tender bush
squeezed hard and never let go

mine couldn’t be suppressed
and burst forward ready to bloom
the children run in the springtime air

covered in pollen