a bag in the backyard contained the hopes and memories of twenty some years in a way I could not then understand sweet summer evening air playing in the shade of a pear tree with hornet's near when i found it in an old garden i did not run held the memories in my hands … Continue reading bag of memories
if there is an end in sight its a wooden sign nailed to a post half-leaned into a waiting wind with a pile of rocks at its base miles of road stretching on before miles after or maybe its nothing just fields of green grass stretching out into the horizon calling you home to the … Continue reading maybe
sunrise over the city streets fresh for the first time holding no grudge passing no rumor or holding a candle to the past the shadows last but they know their place escaping quickly allowing the heat of summer to spread its arms crack its knuckles and extend its arms in that way that brings a … Continue reading whatever majesty
we were the same just different now longing for the weekends from March to November leaving our bodies in the shade while our souls danced in the sun morning bleeding into noon noon bleeding into night and the days grew longer and the wind warmer it was the same just different
breathe openings between building where nothing ever was just the sun on an afternoon playing through the leaves of the greenest maple over train tracks space where the song of the cicada was comfort grass growing to our waists and no fear of the unknown breathe last seconds of naivety slipping into consciousness slipping into … Continue reading Breathe
Felt it crawling across my skin feet skating across the surface barely touching into air midnight bullfrogs calling and a canoe knifing over waved ridges. Dragonflies skittering through cattails and the warmth comes up from off the surface becoming more than a reflection of what was a mirror of the sun.
where are you going thunder rattling the bricks of an old farmhouse rain pelting down against the aluminum roof holding prisoner a small family within where have you been crying enthusiastically on the back couch seat of a mint Cadillac watching the waves of grain roll long into the wind for Bob Dylan
What ever happened to those walks to the park friends waiting on the corner wanting to be out and then anything. You know it really seemed that the sun might have risen just a little higher the laughs might have been just a little more full and the hands on my watch refused to budge. … Continue reading Waiting on the Corner
And these are the moments that we stand on the edge of places holding them in our minds as they were walking here on summer evenings to wait with the sun as it slowly fades.
Standing near the top of the slide watching the water pump in the plastic shakes as the line gets shorter and a while blowing at short intervals is the constant. I want to race down it I want to surf down the thing and explode into the pool below I want to see the water … Continue reading Waterslide