The dog
On my street knows
When to bark and how.
But we talk when
We don’t need to-or worse,
When we should listen
To her nuanced
Many cadenced
Lament.

//
An old amplifier
From when I played
Sits still
Behind my piles of recent books.
Waiting to proclaim something again.

//
So many paintings and photos
Around me now
All which seemed to matter
In the moment
Now, they together gather dust
Having not seen
The light
Of day.

//
I may do nothing with this photo
Or this poem. But this.
Take it write it
And leave it here.

//
I loved roundly
If not always deeply
But circumference matters also.
But depth of field is better now.
Each particular name-and entire world
To love.

//
When young, I loved so broadly
Unabashedly
Giving thanks for each name I met.
Now it is less than a handful,
But pierces and peers more deeply
Than before.

//
Craqueiure

When it came to life
I ran towards her anomalies freely
I wanted to know her
Through the cracks

//
Coup de grace

It was mercy I survived 911 being so close
To falling bodies
But it
Decided not
To take me out yet
So the coup failed
At least in my case.

//
What will the coyotes (or artists for that matter)
Do now, that the walls are so high
Perhaps, become
Tight rope artist
Or just live in city parks
Until they are needed again.
Howling
Into
Urban winds.
Painting their tracks
Like graffiti on walls
Discovered the next day.

//
I wanted to be the church
Not to visit it.
A living chapel or circus canopy-
Like a Chagall painting
Where everyone could fly
If they wanted to.

//