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Elevator shaft where the string quartet lived and worked;
swallowed and making the best of it.
On old days when I return light keeps flagrant promises
in wet folds, newsprint parts the meaning of love.
You forgive each tiny miracle,
stale coffee poking a hole in a stray cup.
I follow your bottom to the top of winding stairs;
sheets run like blue fish.
Naked, we step together around pine trees, prying
into the walls, the music forgetting to breathe.
Never faithful, the sky beyond the window
survives in a different way.
Invitation
The mail today
includes an offer to be cremated
so for a few overlapping heartbeats
you are able to eavesdrop on your ashes
clout bathed in bamboozling timeworn flames
Last Friday it was Save The Date
always a hoot when they stand in a bit of forest
alone together for public service eternity
her face densely printing ego diathermy
his deadpan joy
Remember us
indefinitely pure
Thin Air Magazine 