А la recherche du temps perdu When I saw how the new sun shone,I opened all the morning to her. When I felt the heat of midday,I turned my face to feel her warmth. When her exit cast a wake of diamonds on the sea,I sailed in pursuit ’til they sank out of view. When… Continue reading In Search of Lost Time | no regrets
In summer my fingernails grow like weeds— just grow and grow and there’s no stopping them. All that vitamin d; sunlight so I have to clip, trim, file. Sand down the edges that snag on my shirt or a neighboring nail. They’re long now, but instead of cutting, clipping, reigning in, I have the urge… Continue reading Summer swords
Along windswept edges of town amid stern midcentury angles, a bright unsunny light filters and glances; limns the geometric emptinesses between things on a weekend in shoulder season on a slip of land off the coast of Long Island. The color of the wood sea-silvered— salt boxes beheaded, re-envisioned by exacting minds, rise out of… Continue reading An austerity of angles sprouting from wild grasses
In the ellipses between drops of rain In the space between pale night’s end and grey morning I find you. I find forgotten things. Between lines of writing in the pages of books yellowing in drawers and on shelves, In the leathery slips between their bindings— And in the spaces between the notes of songs… Continue reading Spaces
Here are the days— Heat, haze on the horizon like a matte painting, wavering This part of summer finds me un-hungry. I have no appetite. My desires simplified, bleached like the half-shells of bi-valves, left hollow on the sand. The sounds of waves, shrieking gulls, soft wind— And the gradual granular erosion of my skin,… Continue reading From here I can see the curve of of the earth
People disappear Sometimes all of a sudden without warning. Sometimes gradually like sunset on the longest day of the year, or how long it takes some trees to become naked in the face of oncoming winter. One way is like hitting a brick wall. The other is more torturous. An ongoing awareness tracing the slow… Continue reading Leave(s)
On a cold, windy weekend I contrived a little garland of fabric flags— droll points affixed at intervals to a length of pale ribbon because the undraped window looked dreary and forlorn. Days later I looked at them, trying to gauge whether they cheered. Outside, the trees wore bright-gold leaves, a yellow burst against the… Continue reading fabric flags
From a congress of reeds
along the water’s edge
A white crane rose
on a silent vector—
horizon-wise...
Waning of summer month, end of beach weather month. Back to work and back to school month. Memory— no A pattern, died in the wool. Buckled-up books, backpacks, cardigans. Skirts and stockings and closed-up shoes that suddenly feel too tight. Early rising, hasty breakfasting— Tie your shoes and Don’t forget your lunch and The bus… Continue reading September
It’s been six months. You’re still gone. Apart has become normal even to us. Absence is absence, but we get on. We’re fine, we're Good. We speak rarely, but feel every day. Maybe that’s why the silence. Words are too articulate— they make things real. I’ve been drawing, writing, living. You too. Past is past. I’m… Continue reading The away team wears grey ’cause they’re Away
e daggar art: THE MUSEUM 