May 26, 2015

The Visitors

They usually arrive,
one by one,
everyone thinks
they'll be
such fun.
They always leave
in the same way,
late at night,
or just before
break of day,
to travel back
where they
came from.
While here,
they often
say our names
in the dark,
drink our drinks,
leave their mark.
Only in dreams
we dream at dawn,
do we sometimes see
how far they've gone.

May 23, 2015


You bought
these chimes,
saying they would
calm me down,
as daylight quickly
I sleep with them ringing
in the wind, dust filling up
my chambered heart,
their jumbled voice
sings hurry, hurry,
come here now.
Soon enough
you'll be together,
all covered over,
never fear.

May 19, 2015


Here, in the desert,
what they call a river
is a mere trickle
contained in concrete,
running down the middle
of a par-five fairway,
most of the year
completely dry.
It flows with life
only on maps,
where we show the world
what we would like to be,
so in our dreams
we will still believe,
arriving each night
after the journey
we all once made,
looking for blue
where none exists,
at first surprised
we could live this way,
then slowly resigned
to blowing sand
in every room,
the pool already hot
by May or June.

May 15, 2015

Way Down Here

Way down here
the sun still rises,
we get ourselves up
beneath disguises,
say good morning,
nodding hello,
knowing there's 
nowhere else
for us to go.
We have heard
it's only wise,
to keep our wits,
and tell no lies,
neither borrowers
nor lenders be
of the only thing
we give away free;
and finally someday,
when you visit me,
please don't be surprised
by what you see.

May 12, 2015

Just Before Dawn

I like this hour 
just before dawn,
when it's dark
but light seeps
into our room,
a first clue
we're still here,
pitch black giving way
to muted blinds
outlined in gray,
as we slowly
emerge from darkness,
beginning to prepare
for the light of noon,
when tears from dreams
will be all but forgotten,
when we can pretend
the waiting night,
will not find us
again so soon.

May 8, 2015


The news is full
of death this morning,
a big earthquake
shoving its way
into the headlines,
all those people
gone just like that,
except for those trapped
and buried alive,
left struggling to breathe
in the darkness.
Everything here is tranquil,
the earth turning
slowly in silence,
as if she's
seen it all before.
The staccato
warnings of birds
fill the air,
only the boy running
headlong toward the pool
seems out of place.
I see him go flying past
in a blur, feel him
as he speeds right by
my open door.