An Evening Rain

The Stone I Took

I was driving somewhere, past the part of Massachusetts where maps just get tired and give up - Otis, maybe, or a town pretending to be Otis because it liked the sound of the name.

At the Berkshire Garden

Morning opened in Albany - the city stretching itself awake, lights blinking off along the Hudson, a heron lifting from the shallows. Coffee steamed the car’s small interior as we turned east,

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.

We Plant the Poppies

Among the Lilacs