a gentle breeze
along the beach
tai chi shadows

crowded square -
a mime's glance
crosses mine

an old woman sweeps
the walk of cherry blossoms
children’s laughter

summer’s end
I stop myself talking
to a stranger’s child

the cheery yellow taxi
that takes you away
my dark mood

a clothesline
sags beneath the weight
of all those aching backs

not quite incense
a smoldering cigarette
at the curb

quietly
we become
audience

roller coaster
we have no advice
to offer the newlyweds

in passing
to another waitress
her real smile

  pasture cairn
the old farmer’s
  bent spine

country store –
two old-timers whittle
over world affairs

dying fire . . .
I sit quietly
with my ghosts

bikers’ headlights
 threading down the mountain-
     moonless night

one generation
pushes another
      in a swing

Foggy morning
at the bus stop
a dress with cranes

Behind him on the Harley       ladybug

spring morning
the freshly painted name
on the overpass

Wal-Mart
an old man
also talking to himself

long night
internet friends
of internet friends

seems to know
what I’m made of
the taxidermist’s eye

magnolia blossoms 
   the kindness of a stranger
         in the Mississippi fog

sex under stars
   the blindness of two strangers
         lost in the moonshine

polished wood
in my hand the hand
of the artisan

fills
& empties
seaside café

post office queue
we learn all about
his family overseas

he only tells
the guy at the gas station
he’s in love

a saxaphone plays
beside the slight percussion
of coins in a cup

at the farmer’s stand
a woman scolds her children
-- my children listen

inside pitch
learning to pronounce
new names