Shadow
Early in the morning
it walks behind me blown backwards
by the wind. As the sun rises, it gets closer
to me until it is underfoot. In a few hours,
my shadow will be walking in front of me,
stretching long on the sand, absorbed
by the darkening beach only to appear
as a ghost in the moonlight.

Peregrine 2016

The House
The door frame stands empty,
poison ivy creeps the outside.
The siding warps into weary smiles,
studs peek through the empty spaces.

Wall paper hangs; a faded flower
dying of neglect. Stairs creak in time
with my slow climb to the second floor.
Windows sag like veiled eyes.

In the sun’s rays, dust motes sift downward.
Peeled open, the metal roof lets spring rain
pepper the dusty floor. Winter snows will
cover the lost.

belle reve 2016

Memories
They peer at me from the bureau;
sit on the box topped with two small
Seiko watches and wedding rings.

They skulk behind me: walking the dog
or in the quiet moment when the sun is setting.
Behind the framed pictures, they cry with me.

They grab a taste of the applesauce cakes
as they cool on the old racks. They clamber onto my shoulder
when looking at mountains or changing the car’s oil.

Ambushed, I thank that walnut box
for holding them secure.

Boston Literary Magazine
Sept. 2015

Summer’s Turn
humid air
no leaves stir, river flows
sun peeps out

wood pecker
rattles, another answers
a pair

dusk
leaves fade to black
insects sing

midnight
moon smiles
tree frog calls

four a.m.
no leaves stir
all are quiet

The Four Seasons Anthology
June 2015

Window
the trees
naked in the passing winter
are clothed in their best spring greenery
no leaf
torn by hail or curled to hide an egg
a breeze touches the understory skips from tree to tree
the nuthatch
hikes up the walnut slips its bill
under the bark for an insect hiding from the cold
a chickadee
flits back and forth from the feeder
pounds the sunflower seed open
the redbud
shows its magenta dress to introduce the spring
the warbler lingers on the branch to catch
an early gnat
summer leaves tremble in the wind that precedes
the storm shudder from drops that pummel them
yellow-billed cuckoo
slinks through the canopy leaves tire
sourwood reddens green poplar fades into yellow

the morning light
outlines the downy woodpecker hitching up the sycamore’s trunk
the trees sulk under a pewter sky

The Four Seasons Anthology
June 2015

Scalopinae scalopus
Don’t know what killed the mole;
on close inspection I saw no damage
from talons of barred owl or punctures
from cat attack.

But there it was, looking like a stone
with feet; small, pink with nails.
Pointed nose, short naked tail, no eyes or ears,
just a rock with paddles.

Didn’t want to touch it,
no matter that I pick up dead birds.
Scooped it up on the shovel
and tossed the body into the woods.

Something will eat it.

Plum Tree Tavern
6/2015

Thoughts
Like a root hidden under the fallen leaves, they grab me,
I stumble, fall, then get back up to walk the trail.

Or like poison ivy, insidious, clinging, growing up the oak.
Other times, they float down gently as an autumn leaf

drifting to the ground. Maybe they are a dry leaf
torn by the wind, blowing far from the poplar.

Or perhaps hanging on the beech branch until spring.
But most times, they strike like lightening to the pine

and split me down my trunk leaving a long black scar.

The Magnolia Review
June 15

MARBLED SPIDER
Its web stretches
across the trail. A deer fly brushes
its sticky center. The spider
watches as it struggles.

As the web stills,
the spider crawls down,
wraps the body in a cocoon,
injects its venom.

The spider sucks
its capture dry, snips the silken
husk from the snare,
removing any hint of death.

Broken threads
repaired, the spider slides
under a leaf, legs poised
for another capture.

jellyfish whispers jun3 2015

MARBLED SPIDER
Its web stretches
across the trail. A deer fly brushes
its sticky center. The spider
watches as it struggles.

As the web stills,
the spider crawls down,
wraps the body in a cocoon,
injects its venom.

The spider sucks
its capture dry, snips the silken
husk from the snare,
removing any hint of death.

Broken threads
repaired, the spider slides
under a leaf, legs poised
for another capture.

jellyfish whispers jun3 2015

No Kill Kennel
I know
the neighbor’s dog lives in the weather:
rain/mud, snow/sleet, hot/cold.

I know
when the dog stops just short
of its five foot chain, it wants to roll
in the grass, smell the green of the horse’s meadow,
drink from the clear stream.

I know
the dog was forced to live in its foul soilings.

I cannot
watch the filmed appeals to save this dog, this cat, this horse.

I can
walk the kennel dogs,
listen to the dry leaves crackle.

to be published in The Homestead Review Spring of 2015