Time Change

The sun hit the room in a sideways slant
the first day that clocks turned back;
I sat at my desk staring out the window
listening to the quiet of the afternoon
letting its mellow rays penetrate me;
I forgot the drive home would be dark.

I take it all in at once never leaving
holding on to every chance making
it impossible to let go and be alone.

If you were my friend, you’d love me,
not later, not forever, not before,
but in the quiet of the autumn sun
when the dark isn’t a consideration

and the hour is twice as long.

Closed Door

Light peers through the
door soundly closed,
dust picks up breeze
squeezing underneath
to rummage across
a cold wood floor.

Though deadbolted,
stoically built against
elements, something still
manages to squeeze
into the room where
I am not with him.

Before prohibitive entry
the only separation
between hearth and sky
was a screen door
that filtered fresh air
in, and kept bugs out.

What slammed the door
is hard to identify precisely,
imperceptible swings
from a forever consideration
to just help me get through
ultimately shut me out.

Back up against it,
conversation suspended,
the quiet takes over
leaning hard on me;
I’m done with trying,
nothing’s left to open.

Interstate 55 on an Autumn Eve

Horizon flushed
as her sun left,
hitting the field
hard in exit;

longer night falls
to cool warm sky,
Indian sun
soaked tired fields.

Cicada’s last
dog day swan song
hustles farmers
to beat first frost-

in rush of wings,
black birds fly low
picking over
corn combine’s dust.

Pink reflection
settles to soothe
the shorter day
summer left us.


Day drags into night
light still peaking in
through the window

dark cold thoughts
settle like icicles
hanging on gutters

you wouldn’t know
that it’s summer
and the air is easy

droplets don’t hit
snow on impact
nor frozen asphalt

they evaporate to
dusk that settles
comfortably, slowly

my mind shuts tight
brain freeze sting
I can’t hold it.

Wolf Lamb

Eastern pasture rises gently
meeting sun before cloud cover;
grazing weed and wildflower,
he’s not immediately known.

On haunches, tongue grazing cold springs,
his ear raises toward her industry;
do you ever tire of the hill
and miss the rustling sounds of wood?

The wood always stands stoically
as the field’s guarded radius,
shadows tempt any innocence
to enter its willful darkness.

But I do not live among trees,
I’ve not the taste for pine needles,
nor the canopy of towering
oaks protecting mossed ground from light.

The wolf continued his query
to draw the lamb into his game,
distorting his true intention
to only engage her for sport.

His fierce fangs would not tear her flesh
to feed the incessant desire
left lately by the last lamb’s bleed
that had failed to satisfy him.

He was anticipating next,
honing his seductive technique
that would distract whoever saw
nothing in the advances he made.

This lamb saw under the fur coat
wanting to pull the heart from it,
to savor adrenalized beats
of an animal not her own.

She pulled the coat over her quick,
touched the neck at the jugular
and pulled his skin across her wool,
his blood filling the spring that drowned.


Larry’s Dad died last week
before the tour started;
now he has gone back out
on the road banging skins;
I think he is the age
when it seems parents die.

Not too remarkable:
a lifetime comes and goes-
we don’t always recall
the last time together;
rolled up in emotion,
rolling in memory fog.

But it will come sometime,
it isn’t far away
in a distant moment
I’m not quite ready for;
better not sit and wait,
it may just get me too.

Walnut Spring

The wind is neither bold, nor demure
as it moves across the first days of May,
after storms have ripped savagely and
the first Spring tulip-blooms fade away.
It is Spring, he whispers, pulling on me
to follow him scrambling up the steep path,
where under the budding walnut tree
the great swells of ground cover its roots.
Noses cold, we huddle close together,
our breath mingling with the pollen dust
that alights the winds of forever
with its promise of transcendent hours.
Were we here until tomorrow’s day break,
or for as long as the first leaf’s show takes.