the curl of the wave
a glimpse of something
I can't keep

under night's cover
small beetles ratter-tat-tap
on ancient oak beams

moon’s light through window
white squares on the kitchen floor
crossed by a black beetle

moth dressed in white light
tapping softly on the glass
craves the bedside lamp

hatched from the wood pile
by the fire's warmth, a surprise;
winter butterfly

I remember a time
of bluebird song
and poppy fields
where we ran headfirst
into our dreams

night cradles
rock our dreams
to and fro
distilling them
into morning light

ready for food the thing in the mirror wants out 

a bowl of bruised fruit the fame begins to fade

a dog howling parcels for the dead man

tethered to all within this consequence of stars 

the exposed flesh of a peach in sepia

a precipice behind your yawn is mostly green 

horses I keep forgetting to feed your ego

the war we watch inside a clock’s face

argument over
she snores on her side
of the pillow wall

daydream
the masseuse’s hands
begin to wander

the harsh aftertaste
of vending machine coffee —
ICU at dawn

finding my name
on an old headstone —
distant lightning

counting pigeons
in the park
my old math teacher

warm breeze
the cat runs over
the piano keys

faded memories
the intricate stitching
in grandma's quilt

behind the silver tinged clouds
an orange glow
bonfire night

cathedral gargoyles
she asks about
my demons

sunlit sand
my daughter strokes
the donkey’s shadow

ripples on the pond
my wife points at the child
who looks just like me

face to face once more
with my childhood bully —
open casket

closed lilies
I decide to say
nothing

we share
one last kiss...
gentle rain

heatwave
a heap
of bikes and teens

April evening -
a robin cedes the garden
to a blackbird

morning mist -
a cigarette billowing
on the frozen road