snow settles over
the stirring houses

soon
life will pass
from the windows
into the corners
of the street

a hand waits
in the growing cold
blind palm holding
the light
of the setting moon

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

you're too
far from me tonight
i watch
a cat walk
a path between
the shifting trees
long tail curling
a question
into the guiding night

the windows open
to the sound of rain

i hear your voice echo
in the other room

morning begins
with a muted fire

rain again tonight.
light scatters
on the  pavement
like glass

i remember
the broad
curve of the river
keeping time
with the windows
of the train

i watched you
watch the water pass,
one palm curled
around the shadow
of your wrist

i was waiting then, too

morning fades
into early afternoon

you're asleep
in the next room
one hand folded over,
fingers touching
the inside
of your hidden palm

somewhere
a voice laughs
spilling life into
the restless sun

the flowers
that your mother gave me
wilting on the corner table

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

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

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

morning again
my shoes
are still wet
from the rain
last night

i search
with small fingers
for the beginning
push of the light
the smell of oranges
still lingers on my pillow

i can feel
the weight
of you

in the growing summer
rain follows
the slow
rustle of
the setting day

the night falls
in silence

time
fades the
summer grass

and i count
each
stepping breath
of your heart

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

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

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

there was an answer
in the way
the trees pass
pressing budding branches
against the silvering
pull of the sky

i think of the silence waiting
in an empty room
the light peeling
like skin as the day fades
spreading shadow and
the smell of dust
along the growing edges
of the carpet

i keep
a light on
for you
quiet voices
follow
each nodding
turn
of an hour

the night
passes cold
between
the ache
of my fingers

soft heels answer
on the sidewalk
i watch the lines
of her hips move
against the shadowed
fabric of her skirt
there's not enough
distance in the brittle
push of early autumn
it shifts the naked
rest of browning leaves
and loves no one

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

early dawn
fades into grey

i carried your name
into the pale
winter morning

the sound
of the waking birds
touches skin
to skin

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

muted sunlight
grey against
the sleeping grass

voices falter
startled by
a new word

disappointed,
the rain bends
with a heavy breath

i still try
to forget
your name
sometimes

leaves scatter
in the waking night
and wait
for the summer
rain to die

an empty morning

your pillow
how you left it
curled under
on the edge

i remind myself
to think of you
in the new silence

the cat watching
with the small
movements
of a ghost

summer
turns with
the aging leaves

she carries
her days
on the bend
of her shoulder

the drifting
weight of the morning
curls with the smoke
of her cigarette

your hands grow
heavy in the half light
i liked the way
the passing silence
of the hours
curled shadows
across the lines
of your face

i don't remember
the sound
of your voice anymore
just the soft
sighing rattle
of your chest
as the sun
slowly shapes
its fingers,
my coffee
growing colder
on the kitchen table

sometimes
i remember you
in the restless hours
when the night follows
the waking quiet
and the summer
is too slow
to come

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

winter
follows me
here

under
the creeping snow
shadows move
with the sound
of yellowed leaves

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

i found your footprints
by the lake
where the sand
met the lazy
tongue of the water

i wanted to tell you
about the oranges
on the counter
the soft curl
of their peels
growing dimmer
in the fading light

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

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

it rained
sometime
in the passing night

leaves rustle
wet shadows taken
by a sudden current

sleep
follows me
like a footstep

morning curls
heavy in
the shadows
of the grass

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

july again
i've forgotten
the way a warm hand
feels against
the back of my neck

summer
speaks with
a waning breath

the last hour
goes by
slowly

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

he left again
in the early morning

sunlight touches
silver through
the heavy blinds

i clean the dishes from
the kitchen table

new shadows settle
restless bruises against
the curve of my hand

we move in silence
the yellowing
age of the roses
continues with the tide

he writes
of the sun shifting
through the narrow grass
the curve of her body
moving with the sound
of a sigh

a cold rain gathers
bringing night
to the waking room

the pale shadows
on the table
hold the movement
of his empty hand

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

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

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

small
rustle in the mid-hour

she moves
in steady comfort

bare shoulder to
restless sun

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

the window is open
to the sound
of the water
sighing

the light
from the waning
moon
speaks softly
to the corner table

you left
a glass by
the kitchen sink
pale pink tracing
the line
where your lips
had been

1.
in summer
we sit in the branches

picking leaves
from the strands
of our hair
we break the stems
and touch
the bleeding tips
to our tongues

2.
quietly
the fruit falls

aging in the soft
shoulder of the ground

flies gather
eating life
before the ending day

3.
summer fails
gathers
and fails again

new grass
grows
crowded against
the wooden fence

my mother
kills the fig tree

branches fall
-old weight breaking
into waiting hands

the sun
warms
an empty space

4.
morning begins
with the ache
of a new flower

shadows move
liquid beneath
the shifting leaves

sunlight through
green paper

your hand rests
on the edge
of the kitchen table
there is no
silence here
only the light fading
like the slow
leaking of breath

an apple sits
on the counter
soft lines curving
into the white
shadow of the wall
we take the curtain
turning like a page
in restless sleep
and the sound
of the rain
murmurs cold against
the window

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

the smell of smoke drifts
from the burning mountains

your breath moving
the strands of my hair

new light touches
the corner
of the bedside table
and tells me
what i don't remember