when she falls
into herself

she can’t sleep
she can’t wake

all the cycles end
she is alone

I am alone
we are alone

I feel the earth
lose its strength

and I know
it is bigger

than me when

her tears break
even god’s heart

I am staring out
at the black shoulder
that fell an hour ago
across the yard lap,
thinking about it again:
that love is a game
with no way to win;
but you can lose more slowly.

Strangely enough, I
almost missed the
birth of my three year
old daughter.
I have never written much for
popularity or trends; this one
is no exception.
My girlfriend and I
had been separated most
of her pregnancy.
I stabilized the last three months and
was able to
travel the 50 miles
as often as needed to
be there for the birth.

The night before she went
into labor, that morning, she acted
crazier than usual--passive aggressive,
and cruel biting remarks.
Finally, she just came out with it,
"I looked at your phone while you were sleeping,
and you have been watching ****.  I'm taking you
back to Mason City and you can just miss
the birth of your daughter.

Luckily, we only made it a few blocks before
she went in to labor.
But, she hasn't let me
live it down.
And I hoped like hell,
as I looked down at my
little angel,
I sure the **** hope
that she never becomes
a **** star.

I watch the small birds
chop across caroled glen,
bunch split on branch,
push through bitter yard.

In this way I have missed you,
stirring myself thing to thing
in the same small spaces -
finding only thinness to rest on.

life is messier
than birth

belly buttons
are only the

first scars
and no one

is afraid to
show them

there are many
more cords

that get cut and
in much nastier

ways

leaving marks
on our bodies

minds and souls
some heal

while others are
infected open

wounds we
try to hide

she fell asleep
in water

her slip dress
clinging

desperately
to her skin

she dreamed
religiously

about being
there on the

first day
he found

his voice
when no one

could follow
what he said

but they
followed

him anyway
because it felt

right

Honeycombs of light
****** themselves into being
in metro fields.
Children cross the lush
to skip stones at the dead fence
as night assembles itself
into spaces and stars.

Day falls away like a skin,
beneath conquering belts of milk
that separate from a lidless emptiness.
Silver subway trains gleam
in their charcoal tunnels.
Apart from all of it
is a chalk morsel moon.

Sometimes you are
the thrown stone
sinking down to post
& sometimes you are
the star wheeling off tether.