The Dead Man Dies

They’d always thought that the dead man was deaf. They never noticed how a baby’s cry would set off his own tears, how a smoke alarm would bring a panic, how he could always hear the lunch truck when it pulled into the parking lot. The call of hunger. The miracle of ruby red lips.

The Tower

How like a child who seems to climb each day To higher floors. How like a new sunrise, Something off to the west, something gay To warm the mountain’s shadows in your eyes… Save that for later; climb up these old steps. The tower is ready now; your mission is Accomplished; go to sleep. All

A Different End to Daylight

There’s bones among the thorns tonight— the treetops brush the wind, and clover and grasses quiver and glow. —Why, even the chipmunks sit up to listen. All nature seems to pause over my quiet colloquy as best it can. I sit in the rocking chair that I built myself, oh, maybe twenty-five, thirty years ago,

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