Tag Archives: the present

Chimney song

Chimney song

The brick broke close to cleanly
and lay in a wheel rut its two pieces

within half an inch of each other after
the dark tumble from the next door

neighbor’s chimney down its roof
and in air across the shared dirt driveway

between houses where it banked off
the screen of our kitchen window

just below our bedroom then fell
its final six feet to the muddy tire

tracks and divided itself almost
neatly like a last piece of cake

being shared between the past
and a future without houses

In the Month of Your Birthday

In the Month of Your Birthday

Mid-afternoon storm hours behind me, on the walk home.
Slight breeze triggers rain in the maple, cascading

leaf to leaf in the layers of small shadowed sky, not a memory
of rain but the actual rain, retained, in the vast shadows, actually

falling, and isn’t memory an actual thing moving in a real space,
and like the rain in this maple, not touching the ground.