Home

Selection from
The Busyness of Passing Waves

City of Rats

Days

It's the same as always...

Recently...

You lying there bare and neat...

And still...

Midnight Snack

Not a Full Moon

Dream

Sadness

Your Lips

They make me want to use the big words
the ones that cause a shake, a stir within
at just the thought, from disuse, brittle and old

risk disintegrating upon touch. Your lips
draw shapes I've only seen the masters make.
I think of poor Van Gogh, nailing

one of his old prints above his bed, before
closing his eyes and seeing your lips again
whispering, mouthing images for him to paint.

I wonder who they're smiling at, or for, these days
your lips, I wonder if I call them in this rain,
they'll take me to themselves and form a perfect

space, a cozy little world where I can find repair
from these thoughts?