Wadsworth Falls, CT

Where was she
when they were giving
out licenses? Which daydream
distracted her
from motorized
vehicles? Which water

fall, where did
the trail go? Sitting beneath

one with him naked
decades ago, she didn’t
really care. Pistol
factories, textile mills, flume
or sluiceway is all that remains.
As if she could return.

Make Believes

The same story
in seven different languages.
She can’t find hers. Where? Could be tucked
deep inside
those accordion folds. But, no,
this could be

his. To pretend

to be mute
at this late date could be
his one last act
before a hunger strike pulls
down the red curtain. Or, no,
that one might be

the one she abandoned
years ago at the roadhouse
now something else altogether.