Poem #4

It’s late in the day and
no words have lined up in a way that pleases me.
Nothing created
to speak of.
But I judge myself by my intentions.
and I’ve done no damage
to speak of.

Poem #3

Notice. Your past comes back to you now
on a warm, moist breeze
cloaked in the smell of clematis
illuminated by the noon day sun.
Your past that you shared
with strangers who have forgotten your name.
Memory is like breath:
I can’t live without it.

Poem #2

When memories are as transparent as dreams
and intentions as flimsy as those memories
and emotions dart here and there like spoiled children
and the right words never come,
I still begin to write without knowing
where the words will lead me
and when the words will stop
forever.

Poem #1

April. Again.
Outside my window a gum ball tree
Seed of Aprils past
Reminder of brown army blankets
Flawed fathers.
Bare earth.