Small Windy Vortexes
Last autumn's dry dead leaves
swirl in small windy vortexes
with flattened Marlboro boxes
pieces of plastic beer cup
together they hover and dance
like a cluster of midge
over the oil-stained lot.
Words & Swifts
Today my words emerge
I wish they would take flight
like a flock of swifts
one by one, together.
So the Words Sink In
When writing a poem
on a napkin with pen and ink
slow the pace of your
breathing, writing, thinking
so the words sink in.
The hills and gulches of my home town
rise and fall like mountain waves
born where faults, divides, and batholiths
overlap and merge
Bull Trout Haiku
fresh water, bull trout
cold, clear, complex, connected
both precious and rare
To Put Off the Sunrise
I often find small signs that Sophia was here.
A little skittle tucked into the couch cushion corner;
One tiny hot pink sock in my pocket.
We make fun in the short pieces of time we stitch together.
We hold hands a lot--walking to the library, driving around town, sitting on the couch.
When she's here my breaths are long and full and deep.
When she's gone they are short. Choppy. Sputtered.
Once, she woke up In the middle of the night and pressed both palms into my cheeks.
She looked me in the eyes and whispered loudly, "I love you Dad!"
My skin melted into her hands. My heart too.
I kissed her nose. "I love you too, Sophia."
"You will always be my Dad, right Dad?"
"Yes, Sophia. I am your Dad. I will always be your Dad."
She closed her eyes.
"Daddy's are forever," I whispered.
I tickled her back to sleep
and did my best to put off the sunrise.