ruins that pristine portrait of my backyard exactly like dirt would if thrown on wet paint such a tedious mess to clean every loose thing...

I only see it when the wind blows leaves into the pool three underwater jets cause snakelike currents that twist and turn in and around...

every year I forget to tell them at the Mizell Senior Center that’s a mango tree in your courtyard I don’t think they know the surprise...

some poets are bull riders some net backyard butterflies others take spaceships into the past or like to swim through troubled waters we...

every evening every body in their dog sprawl on the sofa slips deeper into the cushions nothing left to brace the jumble of limbs in...

don’t you poets have to see a ripple in the water unusual leaf movement or a shadow move across the face of something before you start...

Don’t moths only take to the air when they emerge from darkness? I wrote a poem 40 years ago that yes was a silly rhyming flight in...

don’t most of us find ourselves still sitting in the freezer of winter hand-blowing in bone-chilling cold frosted steam under gray skies...