All things irrevocable, every year, every hour. All appeal a grovel that takes another minute down, Another day, another dawn. All regret of miniscule assistance.
The leaves on all the trees still green. In the harbor of the early evening sky They all sing the same song And we listen without hearing
My first book since 2018’s Wind Intervals is now available.
Order a signed copy below!
A few of these poems have appeared in recent issues of Beloit Poetry Journal and New Letters. I’m grateful to the editors for their interest in my work.
The $15.00 price for a signed copy includes shipping. Order here. (You can also order an unsigned copy from Amazon here.)
My river starts as a creek that idles like a train loading up kids at a park then slides underground, quickening beneath the destroyed black neighborhood
beneath the cheap hotel and its parking lot that was supposed to be a mall and on downhill past City Hall where it bursts into the open thirty feet below
the police station parking garage then sidles back under the concrete and into the dark again beneath a parking lot called The Wharf though
it hid the only waterway in the valley so sometimes when I want to touch the current of my life I feel a parking space stripe that
hand-wide line white or yellow painted over and over for years until it’s a physical presence not just a visual guide the layers
of paint countable like tree rings when what I want is the rush and gurgle of what’s just below our pedestrian lives