Photographic Memory Expedition

One would ask, “Wouldn’t it be lovely?”
Driving down gridded streets that sometimes wound East, then South.
Thinking of shutters painted contrasting colors, or perhaps altogether removed.

One imagines children’s summertime voices.
Carefree and popsicle glee, front sidewalks their territory.
As it should be.

One seems perfect there.
Small and yellow, with miles and miles of welcome.
Surely big enough for whatever weather.

Good Way

I am an appointment
Admittedly one for which you and I
Know not the time or the place
You will show, dear one
On time

On purpose, I am
Not a side-trip or just-passing-through
The destination you charted and planned
You will know my name
With time

The neighborhood, am I!
The where you grew up and longingly miss
The haunt of where you’ve not yet lived
You will call me Home
In time

Giving Flowers

Just past the window pane
In the peripheral there
The delivery man with the great gift
Was she giving, getting flowers again?
I wholly hoped the proud bouquet
Would head my way
But I knew
They were destined for elsewhere
The good news-bearer learned
What I've known
The girl next door's almost never home

Jennifer’s Smile

To every her I want to ask
What potion possess you?
What sensibility secures?
How is it when you close your eyes
You sink and smile and sleep
And when you travel two
To foreign lands
How is it you're at Home
Would you have a talk with me
To set my path straight-way
That I would know what you do right
And I did wrong each day

living also

Diseased or dormant
Standing sedentary
Feeling as an aside
You close your eyes
And think
For what purpose
Close them a beat longer 
And know
For shade from oppression
A homebase for weary wings
The very air
And nourishment to live another day
Yes, we’re all dying 
But like you, living also


Why we need the woman-girl
Sharing the storyline

She will save you from yourself
Lest you think too long and hard

Let her show you the world’s flora
Should your day be canvassed grey

Dare to let her lead you
In some season of your time

Teach her of the wonder-workings
To the world you navigate

Wonder then, aloud, fine sir
“Her grace, how might I hold?”


What other firmament awaits

And elsewhere salted sea at which you may jut your jaw

Is there new terra to sweet-talk now

Where its air be so kind to your longing lungs 

Time and time again

Who else can you call home