The Grammar of Staying
Midwinter, 1980–81 The cold had a grammar then. It conjugated the body into ache and wait, into not-yet. Doorways learned my outline. Cardboard kept the minutes from breaking apart.
The Attic of Hours
A Day with Our Beagle, the Bruegger Meister Introduction Bruegger was our first beagle, a companion who never asked much from us except to be near. This poem remembers the quiet work we shared one long afternoon - how his presence turned
The Long Coffee Break
The months tilt toward their own horizon, and I can feel the gentle pull - not quite an ending, more a change in scenery.
Where Lilacs Still Lean
For the paths once walked on Lincoln Street, and the trails that linger at 173, where memory bends beneath the trees, and time remembers what the heart still sees.
A Slow Collapse
I did not search for the truth. It arrived on paper - ink already dry, already decided.
The Old Chair - Listening Alone
At the edge of the yard, where weeds choose for themselves how tall to grow, an old chair tilts toward the lilac bush, as if it stopped mid-thought. and never bothered to finish.
