Autumn City
I follow the yellow-leaf road
home
burned-out porch light
all the summer moths
headed to the moon
four am
listening to sirens
turn into coyotes
autumn wind
spits out the crow
it swallowed
coyote wind
chasing plastic rabbit bags
through the barbed wire
I tell the coyotes
I'm only gonna
throw it
one more time --
sunset
I give her an apology
and a candy bar
(she eats the apology)
side of the road
disco lights flashing
on a wasted cowboy
trying to dance
in a straight line
the young man
who thought he was gay
we talk for a bit
until the silence
answers the question
the poem I sent
that you never read
sneaks back into my room
and sleeps all night
curled up next to me
clouds swirl sunset
into pink and blue guesses
she feels it inside her
moving across the sky
like the daylight moon...
three am night sky
god's face big as life
then back to clouds
without saying
anything
Monday morning
the homeless woman
and her daughter
sleeping in the woods
behind an empty church
spot of sun
I open the door
to let it in
but it scatters off the porch
and runs up a tree
when God
lost my bus money
and made me walk home
through the park
where I met you...
shadow of a sparrow
lands on the shadow
of my finger
November sky
a hawk takes the long way
around the sun
at the bottom
of the well
the top of the sky
and when I got home
how he yowled and cried
and kissed my chin
until I promised I would
scratch his ears forever
patches of snow not yet melted
I leave the white stubble
on my face
November snowstorm
summer butterflies
still chasing flowers
on the strings of my
neighbor's windchimes
all the ferrets wide awake
the smell of turkey
from the oven
Thanksgiving
I spend a few more seconds
than I need to
licking mashed potatoes
from your finger
when I was a kite
thrashing in the wind
headed for trees
and pulling
on the string of you
watching the clouds
write a poem
so obscure
I cannot copy it down
before the rain comes