Another Cinquain in Which a Minneapolis Girl Without Wheels Contemplates 2014

No more
excuses left—
Saint Paul here she comes now
riding the Green Line LRT
at last.

Glass Plan

To run a marathon, write
a book, publish
a poem, make
love to a woman, join
a commune, find
a home, see the world,

to call it a day
is to spin my own

epitaph on a 3 x 5
note card, index
my breath, become obsessed
with chasing my own
past, is to take
a long ride on a train.

Drift—Or Curse of the Smiling Eyes

Slip on ice but don’t fall
down. Seventeen more

days. We want a preview.
If I were a train,

I’d be local
and mostly underground

till I’m not. Sub or el—either way
I’d move people more

than I could ever move you

or me into tomorrow’s
shades of the unstratified.

Museum as Verb

She prefers student
over teacher, says
inspiration is

elusive. No one
would settle without
water nearby. It will all shift—

the more she learns
the less she knows

call this—or this—
home. On these days,

she prefers
to board a train
to let go.


Sappho’s poems. Nick Drake’s last
songs. Tiger reserves. My memories, his,
that pier over bay
water. A hearse afloat. The underside
of a bridge. One car
on a train crossing
this river. The moon
most nights. Your love.
My faith. The sky itself.

Tiny Changes at the Last Minute

Accidents no longer
mistakes. Nothing
about buildings or fences,
not another bridge, 

a scrap of graffiti rides 

out on the 11:45 train. Her net
is small, her heart large. She just wants
to take a closer look
then let you go.

Was It the Best She Would Do? (Day 2,600: Take 2)

A stanza added
to three quiet ones—
it could become a record
of the commotion caused
by one silent train
rolling in, another one
about to depart.