To the Light Entering the Shack One December Evening


To the Light Entering the Shack One December Evening

No prayers exit here, nothing
limits you. I never knew
before.

The pear tree’s ghost shudders.

Water pools in the depression of its absence.

For years I have wandered from shadow to
source, longing. Now, at rest,
you come to me and fear
evaporates. I would like to count
the smallest distraction.
I would like to disturb.

You are the name
I whisper
to clouds.

Will you leave if I open the door?

A carnival germinates in my body.

You are not death, but its closest friend.

Darkness parts, folds around you.

I close my eyes and observe.

* * *

“To the Light Entering the Shack One December Evening” first appeared in Shantih in December 2016, and is included in my chapbook, From Every Moment a Second, available for pre-publication order through Finishing Line Press.

Recording of “To the Lovely Green Beetles Who Carried My Notes into the Afternoon”

“To the Lovely Green Beetles Who Carried My Notes into the Afternoon” first appeared in riverSedge Volume 29, Issue 1, released in October 2016. It is also included in my chapbook, From Every Moment a Second, now available for pre-publication order from Finishing Line Press.

 

 

Please note:  prepublication sales determine the print run, which means this stage is crucial in terms of how many copies will be printed and the number of copies I’ll receive as payment. So if you feel inclined to help this poet in his commercial endeavor (which does seem a tad strange), and are able, please purchase your copy during this period, which runs through August 11. The book’s tentative release date is October 6.

 

Poem Up at Picaroon Poetry, Issue #9

My poem, “Memorial Day, 2015” has been published at Picaroon Poetry. Many thanks to editor Kate Garrett, for taking this piece, and a shout out to Paul Vaughan and Tobi Alfier, whose  poems also appear in this issue.

A Step Closer

 

A Step Closer

The difference in here
and there, a step closer to infinity
swallowing the clover and wild onion.

Not knowing, you shift purpose to intent.

Following the sun,
the flower sips light all day,
pausing only when I walk between.

 

 

Chill (Cento)

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Chill (Cento) 

I shiver a little, with the evening,
and you print a shadow like a thin twig.

Wait for my death, then hear me again.
He believes a pomegranate is a thesaurus,

the thundercloud, tomorrow’s puddle. Is
this hunger unlike that of others?

When a drowning man calls out,
his voice follows him downstream.

Why am I grown so cold?

 

A cento is composed of lines borrowed from other poets. “Chill” owes its existence to: James Wright, H.D., Ingeborg Bachmann, Eduardo C. Corral, Blaga Dimitrova, Forrest Gander, Yusuf Komunyakaa, and Adelaide Crapsey.

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“Chill” first appeared on the blog in March, 2016, and was subsequently published in Long Exposure in October 2016.