Poetry

More lonely than I really want to be I find your name written on the back of my hand where I used to write the name of boys that I loved ...

Between two long rows of chairs, you might see God in the therapy dog named Daisy ...

While he was at work, I watched Sesame Street and played with Granny, downed cup after cup of apple juice and tended my cats, dog, and dolls ...

Little donkey of Bethany, foretold in holy writ, you were born for this moment.

In the desert, the tiny, golden mole swims across sand dunes, paddling hard with broad claws.

Old broken record player makes immagined music like a visitation of a jubliant summer composer.

Before the blink of an eye, a deer can leap three times into mystery and we say nothing ...

The hidden life in me listens for the voices of the trees.

No one wanted the old hoover so I took it, added it to a mover's load of furniture and memories inherited the last time you downsized.