The Last Bath

Will we know it when it happens? And (if so) how will we know? Will we know that we know? Will we be able to recognize it? . Will the moment herald itself   with the shout of an archangel? Or will we anticipate its coy arrival with   a kind of parental prescience? .

A Simple Wooden Glider

A simple wooden glider at the curb for Bulk Trash Day. Its rear cushion sags and hangs tenuously by a loop re-sewed twice. The armrests have long since lost the softness of their pseudo suede and are worn and polished like a haystack rock on the Oregon coast. Years ago, the chipboard seat support bent

January 21

I am never so old as on One / Twenty-One.Each year it seems Time’s winning (or has won).Seems a fait accompliThat what’s happened to meCan’t be reversed, slowed, or undone. The forecast at Nine was received as a vowOf impossibly high drifts of snow.Yes, the snows of my youth,Mostly meager, in truth,Never failed to illicit