Marbles—and a Little Bit of Dirt

He became a doll
she left in the rain.
The way his lips
and brows faded, his eyes

continuing to stare
at the cleared morning sky,
or her when she stood
over him. She didn’t care.

And now when she does,
it’s too late. He won’t smile—
they’ll never kiss again.

No Scaffold

A man on stilts
is busy doing his best
to convince passersby
to rethink the glass

wall. I walk
by a sign for free
smells—wonder how

many grams of fat
per sniff. I’m going to stand
taller when I inhale
that deeply.

Or Go Swimming

Three red chairs
tied together with gold
twine put her to sleep.

Rejuvenated driftwood
can split dreams
into chapters

she might remember
to revisit. Or
she might float.

First Monday in Summer

I drink hot
coffee in the rising
heat to cool
off. It works
the way no liquid could
when I was

drunk. When I would use

any day of the week
during any season
as an excuse. But nothing
can stop me
from memorizing
the long light of now.

Weathered and Racked

Behind a picture frame, buried
in the sand beneath
handmade cedar shingle

swings, above
the dunes, floating on

the surface of a disturbingly calm
bay, I might discover
my new obsession.