Category / Current


                         for Alice   Five a.m.—the soft percussion of the rain on the slanted rooftop of my study. I study it: a single drop dropping again and again at

Two Poems

Somebody’s Got My Hair   Somebody’s got my hair, I said to my lover, who stood in front of the mirror in a long white t-shirt brushing out her thick black hair. The silver brush glinted. I touched my head

Three Poems

On Time ”non in tempore sed cum tempore Deus creavit ordinem mundi.” —St. Augustine The light years arriving after untold time, or driving away from us, the distances lost in it. . . . You lie here at night, saline

Monk’s Eye, #20

20   Of all rhythms he found day and night the most beautiful. One, two, and thank God no three. That only came later, when everything was over, a dark number   disguised as a nought. How does a work

Swishing Tails of Horses, Octo…

Mine, says the glorious yearling claiming the path, a rubber runner laid to save her feet.   She will be bought for a sheikh’s stable in Australia, though she does not, cannot, know   her exact luck, this rosy grey

In Praise of Wandering

Iceland   You ask how we do it. Simple. We travel light. Our stash—peanut butter, jelly, bread. When we can get it, cake. We’re not fussy. A clean knife is when I lick it. A very clean knife? We both


It’s not the smoking I miss but his mouth reciting verses in between taking deep swigs. The water bottle might have tipped me off to his neediness. Who needs to drink that much throughout the day? Not even a horse,


She speaks for him, her husband’s deepening dementia like a river through which she has led him to this place, its current strong but not unconquerable.  Carefully, she holds his hand, still guiding him as in Korean now the translator


Because the worst catastrophes always come without warning. Because I never knew who was already several buckets of rust to the wind in other chambers. On the floor of my blue bedroom, turning the key to my roller skate a

Two Poems

As So Often Happens   As so often happens, in the middle of the outdoor concert it started to pour. It was like a sky-wide water balloon was sliced open and rain fell as if all at once, every second.


Tick of sweet clover, swinecress parasite, did you have a music made you stick to the first warm alien who swung our old scythe through your brome? Our Boy wanting to better scope the renegade deer & private fox, your

The Central

When we were hungry and my mother was abnormally irritated, they’d slide out the top-shelf savings jar and we’d go Out to Dinner. This happened once or twice a year. Small towns like ours had two restaurants: one you could

Two Poems

Winter   Let this winter pass into another winter. No more stately brooding. No bluebird’s eggs. No driven mating or well-built nests. I want the frost to blast the ground forever with every seed or shoot that it conceals. Leave


Clewell doesn’t exactly do haiku. –from my introducer’s well-intentioned remarks, exhorting the audience to be patient in light of the characteristically lengthy poems that would soon no doubt be heading their way   Don’t think less of me, but this


We never expected this. Shapes in our shapeless garden. The crude mound we’ve been growing, Dirt, is gone. One of the shapes points to itself, “Willem,” or no, “Phyllis,” it’s hard to understand. “That thing,” you say, “I think that