Circle Poem

The last of the public
pay phones, a dial tone to nowhere 

backwards in a dog
park is a hunt 

for diamonds, is easier
for some to fathom. Me, 

I don’t know how
to wear them, am seeking 

other gems.

Connecting Flight

Free to walk in the rain
in a park—to imagine a dial
tone from the sole remaining 

pay phone on the southeast corner
where the sun might have crept in
another afternoon. It might dry up 

in time for true blues
on a plaza, for a baseball game
to play out in a new stadium 

where birds get in free.