Category: Pentwater
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Bunkhouse mornings
The forest floor crackles, catching dribbles from above. A breeze shifts, fresh spray showers the twigs and dried leaves. I can smell that rain and those damp, quieting mornings, cool moss under my feet. The blue jay’s harsh, long cawk, intrusive. Why did they not swoop down on us? The breeze builds through high branches,…
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Jeanie
Skies hang today like my gray-brown bed sheet from when I knew you, discolored by countless nights of filthy feet and scraped knees from spud and ding dong ditch and ghosts in the graveyard, never washing white. How long it takes to see the nonwhite on the sheet and then longer still to decide whether…
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Top of the White Trail
The first sense you have is of the isolation and how disorienting it feels to not see anyone, even a stranger.
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End of season
It is as I notice the half-used garlic bulb on the window sill, papers torn and frayed,
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Seven things I know about happiness
First, that it is like a wave … that rolls across you standing there and lifts you just a bit, …
Poems from in between 