Who Finishes the Sentence

Will drink the new wine. The only conversation
I’ll have this weekend
is with you. If
erythrophobia was fatal, you would have been

a serial killer. Or was it just me?
Not yet vintage, I wanted to be
your only victim. A true enough
kiss to taste the tobacco

before it became my own. I long
to be the person again
who comes along
to stir yours. Though I can’t lick

your ghostly replies, the scent is rich
in pre-fall burning. Hold the leaves.

Guardian Angel Dust to Dust

I enter the quiet
life through a seam
in this wall. First time I heard

your voice was a homecoming. Tell me
if ghosts speak. With a pronounced
accent? Is the language

of flowers reserved for them
the way I’ve reserved myself

for what’s left
of you? Memory is seamless.

Latitudes Off Kilter

Close enough is never enough
to align your hips
with my waist
no matter how long I ride
this train going south. I overshoot

the dream by a zone
or two. It’s up to me
to make adjustments. In your permanent
state—you won’t budge. But
weather is everywhere—weather is

god. I am everywhere wondering where
you’ve gone to weather god.

Family Resemblance

Only you could get away
with that haircut—you

really didn’t. If I met your brother
in a hallway or on a baseball field

would I see your face, hear your deeply accented
laugh, touch that beard

you shaved off
too soon? Would he know

why this stranger observes
his every move? I continue

to risk being
misunderstood for one of those

moments we used to share before
gravity and all other laws overtook us.


For MJN crossing beneath,
for NYC connecting across,
for The Brooklyn Bridge rescue working destiny

Advance your vantage
point, collapse
your facade of steel,
your gutted concrete floor.

Collide your bridge maker
with mine, collage your hand over mouth
with my eyes shut,
vocal chords in strangulation—

a scream
a void

to coalesce to convalesce
on one promenade
of material unidentifiable yet.
Coordinate the crossing—

bare feet
ash caked faces

no veil could protect,
suits meaningless, ties undone
till they become arms swaying.
A human chain

of events. A human
behavior changing—
no way

They designed bridges
to be passageways.
Make them good
to get no further

than this. It is still where it has been,
the destination stands
between these pedestrian elevating towers
still here.


Doesn’t Check for Rings

One stop
sign, two
spritzes of rosewater, three
sips of iced mint
tea, four
acoustic guitar tunes,  five
kisses on the lips—we
almost got away with a sixth.


I still live
in a coin operated
world. These social networking
tricks do not align

with how I shrink
from true human
contact when the moon begins
to count. If he kept the letters

I wrote, where would they be
now? Hearts bought

at estate sales
are non-refundable.


What was once a blush
you so eagerly sought
to induce has become

a flush
into my middle
age. The gap has been shrinking

steadily for nine years. I hope to catch
you in another nine. Grief—nothing
embarrassing about it.