If my life was the size of my arm, I would stretch it out for you.

My grandmother asked, “Does it feel like being widowed?”

here is the sky in stop motion, flickering,
a still shot in monochrome

We stop doing dishes while
a mile unwinds
from the tree outside.

and apples, mackintosh mostly, but any kind left in The Pub
at the Assisted Living Place

Part of being a good sad person
is always painting the shadows
in the right direction and knowing
what sorrow to art with.

I tap at the alphabet while a single deer
taps at the dirt beyond the brush
on the far side of the tree line.

the man is stayed bent over the canvas
of my sofa. the man is me the man is him
self and I bring down the whip…

Empty vessels
make the most sound, I think,
as you rip the fairy lights off the handrail.

Listen to me: I know
the winter gloom in
mid-summer…

You’ve spent a lifetime training
for this.

Lights on the dashboard spell out
“You still can’t kiss me”

Okay, picture this: We’re in an elevator. The elevator shuts down. It doesn’t matter where we’re going, only that we’re alone.

you know that
baby swallows make silver ripples
in wild rivers to court reeds?

I would always rather be happy than
dignified. Rather held than held
in awe.