Month: January 2012

overcast morning.
twelve-plus years at one address
packed into boxes.

hidden in the pile
of black and wet autumn leaves,
my dog’s old chew toy.

old super-8 reel,
home movie from growing up.
but how to watch it?

no one on the bus
notices the silver fog
carpeting the bay.

taking out the trash,
just in time to hear
the owl’s cry.

evening rain
embroiders downtown streets.
wish I were home.

worker leaves office,
pops a cigarette first thing.
lighter goes: chik, chik.