Tuesday, January 19, 2010


Every morning I open the door to let the dog out,
I grind the beans
Conscious, sweet routine
But this morning, again,
it is snowing
misty waterfall of cold droplets coalesced and painted white,
snow lining the branches,
spotlighting winter's design of the world
and the road a spurious track

Sunday morning on a binary date
the same sweetness, the same pain
Silence is a thrum in my ears
the shadow of a pen, moving,
lying in bed, crouched in the sand, in the pine forest
where I lay the blanket, longing,
where I photographed the shadow
in the summer sun

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Spring rain in the railyard, Centralia, Washington