she’s just a park
a beautiful park to visit
she smells of freshness
glides across the day
...
Opening night, butterflies are floating
the crowd anticipating, and backstage waiting
Tell me, Saint Genesius,
...
mountainous rock buried in snow, frozen
water catching the flow of
summer dreams too young to die, leaving
the endings dissatisfied; chirping
...
Once Hemingway
sat across this bay
and touched the endless sea
...
My old man used to pull mama aside
when we kids came home from school
he’d shake his head in that beaten ole easy chair
sayin’ “hello, hon! ”
...
Spring is the birth of every year, playing
enthusiastically with nature, newborn
thrills of life’s abundance, anticipating
more to come, to share
...
how far away must I go
to transcend the biting snow
to see a moonbeam on the sea
as more than memory
...
mama is left alone among the piles
abandoned by the Rio Grande
distant dreams of Errol Flynn and Savannah
...
love trees are hard to grow
when they do
they’re vulnerable
high winds and stormy rains
...