Middle Age

The lush garden of
youth, with its brilliant self-hate
now fades, bit by bit.

Some of You May Have Seen This Already...

Resignation, or Why I Don’t Like Talking about Being Agnostic


I realize once
more that America is
full of proselytes.

Not Sure When I Wrote These

Cormorant perched on
twisted metal preens its black
feathers in the sun.

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Morning fog obscures
outlines of trees until sun’s
bright light penetrates.

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Blue waters rise and
fall with white foam as cranes fly
across graying skies.


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The sound of blue waves,
the sight of free cranes in the
sky – these soothe my heart.

All Written in May

Behind my eyes, hot
tears readily prick, then run,
trailing lines of salt.

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Summer’s confusion:
Rosemary bushes reach for sun,
finding only sky.

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Especially for Ash

Awake or asleep,
cats express disdain too well—
or is it ennui?

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Peace eludes me.
My heart is too heavy for this
wintery summer.