the day ended the way it began
snow fell in a lazy swarm
and i remembered how in the summer
you always smelled like suntan lotion and soap
i think
i understood this all at one point
you said you loved me for the first time
in a hotel room on the bay
the rain whispered frantically as you kissed me
i wasn't ready
i was never ready

i love you
its so easy to repeat
old mistakes

from where she slept
one hand dangling, sleep numb
curved like a fish
shadows pooled in her palm
like a bruise

there were petals clinging
to the bottoms of my shoes
crushed, still white and oblivious

her eyes shining, hooded with pride
she says
pick it out with the rot
the water breathes
long sighs against the sand
don't you miss this?
the buzzing pulse of the cicadas
as she says
"I'm so abused. Neglected."

the mountains rust
as the year grows older
and i've lost most of the sweaters
that my grandfather gave me
there's a spot that hurts to the whole of me
at a touch

you left
in a hurry today
the shirt you wore to bed
the night before lay
crumpled on the floor
holding your warmth
long after you had gone

accross the street
a train rumbles
much too late at night
and gives me strange dreams

another day
without you
the tepid summer wind
drifts in through my open window
and blows your memory onto the floor

the night here is quiet
save for my feet shuffling
collecting water like dust
love yields in a strange way
i note this as i walk
through wet grass
thinking of you with a mild ache

do you remember
that couch you used to have?
sturdy, it was
worn colorless and
frayed just around the edges
your hand i remember
hooked around its arm
idly playing with the soft,
loose threads as we talked oblivious,
the night pressing its
blank face against the window.

your watch sits on the dresser
soft ticking, the dark
collects like rags in the corners
eaten away by the early morning
there are so many
things that are too easy to say
count them on the ceiling
thin and magazine innocent
and i know what you'd say
to my cold fingers reaching
towards the tiny folds

chunks of ***** snow
lie on the side of the road
like roadkill
there are no more
geese in the duck pond
the water lies still
foggy mirror
reflecting the trees
in dull regard

there was still frost
on my car when i left
i know you disapprove
of the way i drink my coffee
the little things we say
between silences stretched
like a string from hand to hand
i drink my coffee much too sweet
sugar neutralizes the bitter taste
and you wonder
where the point is

the night sits cold and crackling
smoke stirs around the edges
anonymous burn
there are certain things
that i remember
my father on some nights
would sit outside
our front door
watching a storm pass
the lit tip of
his cigarette
burning orange against
a ruse of broken glass

i helped you cut
your hair the night before
music was playing and
none of your windows
had curtains
they let in the timid air
unhindered
your hair fell
stiff and silver
little needles piled
in the bathroom sink

January and it's spring already
clouds have drifted
from the mountains
the sky mocks
with clear eyes
and you say
that we're in this
together
like a pair
of ungloved hands

count the ducks
on the water
gentle lines
lain silver
discarded
in their wake

in sleep
your hand fell
heavy and warm
on my bare hip

there was a snowstorm promised
on the morning news
and as i tossed old clothes
into the garbage
i thought of a bird
i saw once
dark feet curved around
the handle of a shopping cart
he spread his wings
in the limp winter sunlight
and cried one harsh note

your words were folded and
secret as we walked
i remember the leaves
on the path
each as thin
as an unsent letter
they rustled under
but only lost
the smallest pieces

discarded
for the thought
of a newer bud
the leaves spend
their freedom in
idle ways

there's a river that
swells and declines with
the pull of the seasons
in the warmer months
the cows from the meat farm
push through the old wire fence
to drink the water from
the other bank

some nights i
used to be very small
the trees would make
fickle shapes
squirming against
my window
as my mother and
her friends would chatter
loud and hollow
like the falling
of a plastic cup

you buried the dead bird
we found at the bottom
of the ditch near your house
pine needles rested over
the small grey mound
slender and burnt orange
you taught me quietly
about ghosts as i
crouched on the ground
making crisp snapping sounds
with the needles gathered
in my hands

there's a difference
between the shape
of your hand clutched
around the base
of your tall glass
and the way
the light through the window
falls beside your feet
as thin and as innocent
as spilled milk

the sky was a flat metal
he could smell the dusky
smell of a coat discarded,
damp and full of dust,
on a bench as he passed.
and, even now, as
the wind pulled the hands
of his scarf around
in frantic circles
he thought of the quick flick
of her hand as she tossed
a cigarette, half-burned and
orange with inward fire
onto the sidewalk

there is nothing left
but the way
snow crouches only
where the shadows touch
white flowers blossom
too sweet on the tips
of branches
idle comfort given
on loose threads

the kitten
trying to distill
the pain of new teeth
against a crumpled edge
of white paper

the careful clasp
of the door going
into the doorframe
he shuffles through
clutter and scattered paper
searching for car keys

muffled words drifting
by a closed window
with the brittle arms
of a newly fallen leaf
"Jenny, Jenny I'm through..."

water ripples with
the slow threads of current
a fish twines
through the long weeds
grey like the pebbles taken
from the flux of the river shore

summer months
the sun fades
with a tattered edge
somewhere my sister
listens to the fold and
sway of the tide
and a gull flies
its short span casting
crooked shadows
on the sand

it comes in the passing
of two bodies meeting
shoulder to elbow
on an armrest
in a movie theater
soft light tracing
lines around the bend
and curve of an arm
it comes with the linking
of words like fingers held
over the shifting rise
and fall of a sigh

show me the way
your words fall
with the flutter
the wind stirs
in a blooming tree

what can i tell you
your hand remembers
the way the flowers
reached upwards
aching like cups

there's a silence
in the hours
of the first stirring
between the breaking
of light through
brittle air
and the pale stretch
of shadow

you traced your own line
where the light dips
and pools in the hollow
of my collarbone
with the narrow tip
of a finger
i take a page
pure in the first fold
and open receptive

and i spent some time remembering
the way your fingers met
the soft beginnings of your palm
i'm not much better
than the words echoed
on a night with the stars
scattered like birdseed

1
the door clasps
dry whispers
echo down
the dusty dark
2
the moon
has a fingernail's edge
my neighbor sings a song
to his wife
mouth full of cotton
3
the lightswitch
clicks upwards
the light above hesitates
4
i've forgotten
how lovely
my cats are

these dandelions come too late
i've already forgotten
our timid hands
the quiet rustle
of young leaves
the sun nodding
through branches
creating shadow
upon shadow
on the hiding grass

fog again this morning
beside the road
a deer guides
a narrow path
to the nearby woods
the air stretched
to a brittle edge

the sound
of oncoming rain
through an open window
somewhere laughter spills
like marbles

afternoon light flickers
through the curtains
like a moth
her fingers brush
the lined edge
of a plate
as the sink fills
with water

the sound of paper, displaced
shifts behind her
she counts
the careful steps
the cat takes
across the table

outside the roses
trace their shadows
across the lawn

she is beautiful
he tells
the shifting breath
of the open curtain

the tulips outside
are growing
i remember
our feet
tangled in the grass
the soft curve
of your lips
against the palm
of my hand
we watched
the river together
the small circles
of our movement
reflected in the passing
threads of the water

somehow the seasons
settle
i face the distant
end of the horizon
the sun
passes cold
along the skin
of my back
i am lonely here
i press my toes
against the rising
push of the ground
freedom brushes
bare my ankles
and moves along

dull pink rises
over the growing
weight
of the houses

between
the quiet hours
the morning glories
close their petals
against the evening
rain

carefully he took a bowl
from the top shelf
faded yellow porcelain
reflecting the patterns
of the flowers by
the windowsill

raindrops gather
in the open palm
of a fallen leaf

the wind picked pace
she could feel the sound
of the music, very
distant now
he was telling her
about his sister
fingers sliding
through her hair
like water
saying, "You remind me,"
"You remind me."

it was too early
for spring
bare branches
stir with a sudden
turn of crooked fingers
as a car passes,
shedding light
on broken glass

last night she dreamed
of lions

the thread of
summer
pulls
carrying the sleep
of the long grass

the leaves fall
like crumpled
paper birds
early shadows
fold and
unfold with
the upturned
pulse of the trees

by tomorrow
the passing
rush of the geese
will have forgotten
our separate hands
the sound
of our footsteps
falling in and
out of time