Thursday, November 14, 2013

The Fallen Season

Winter wind reflection
wondering when he will visit
grave sites, place stones, say Kaddish
the rituals of an elder son
still mourning, each morning, alone

Saturday, November 9, 2013

Where Living Begins

The imperfect moments are where living begins

Hearing white in "We're letting you go" or worse
"It's me, not you" and the thinness of your first rejection letter
a pet or child rushed to an emergency room
feeling the warmth leave your parent's hand
the closing of a cold cell door

You learn to run through them
like the time you ran through the clacking
of willow branches blowing in a harsh wind

It's how you get from a to b
One step at a time

With a shoelace undone

Sunday, November 3, 2013



There are days when the leaves are
a perfect shade of liquid gold or
a redhead you used to make blush

When a city fountain dances in the
Autumnal light of night, whispering, whispering, whispering

When the deal goes better than expected
when the chicken diablo needs a celebration
when that song plays, you know, that one

When times cries out that it should be shared,
that it must be shared

Those are the minutes you miss her,
when a held hand makes you whole

Like a first grandson, like sleeping in spoons,
like saying softly, good night

And hearing a voice say back,
you're a good man