Taking the Dogs Out One Night After a Snowstorm
The dogs a brown blur against blinding
white barely visible ridges and striations
Patterns of falling and wind-riddance
the shapeless back yard a single unique
print of the storm’s finger but nothing
weighing in as evidence more so
than my daughter’s bright red jacket
so lively against this erasure
like my love for that life and
everything that came before it
and the blue of the twilight
and the black of what follows
Suggestion, Just Before Sunrise, Cemetery Hillside
Loblolly pines peel away from the paling sky
looking back on their roots.
Over one’s shoulder the full moon
eclipsed on the western horizon’s
almost an after-thought. As indirect
light rises from the ground below us men come,
constructing the canopy tent for the next
funeral. Ground fog further east glows
red and headlights are no longer
necessary to see where you’re going.
Note: third in a series of poems with the same title, to be scattered throughout a larger project called The Drift
To the Tune of a Song Not Yet Written 
Five white petals on a black flower
among many in an orange field on the sliver of wing
of an insect pausing by the sill then flying then forgotten
nine months later—my first five decades
Poem To Be Read But Once
As soon as I have finished reading this poem
to you, you will begin forgetting it.
I have written it many times
but it can be read only once.
You are thinking if you read it
and I read it then that is more
Than once only but those
are different poems. This one
Is for you alone. Take a moment
to enjoy being in the middle of it.
I will even skip a line for you to take it all in:
And when you have read it the words
will fall away almost
immediately though the poem never
will nor old love and what travels with it
the line you’ll never forget
after all will be the one I skipped for you
Morning Sounds on a Day Off
Some repetitive bird calls, punctuated by crows.
Closer in, my wife sketching icons
across the table, pen going back and forth
on rough paper. Two cats breathing
still closer on the table by my open book.
When I open my eyes all sounds disappear.
Except the old wall clock ticking, ticking
which I hear even where there are no clocks.