in spring the purslane
pops up underfoot
All articles filed in poets
corrugated
in winter the cold
corrugates the soul, crumpling
it up like paper
a time, a time
there is a time to keep,
and a time to throw away:
theatre programs
ticket stubs
dead plants
math tests
little paper houses
in a shoebox somewhere in the closet
are the little paper houses
my glamorous great-aunt
gave my grandma for Christmas
(untitled)
despite my best intentions
how quickly i forget You
don’t liken a lichen
don’t liken a lichen
to a room like a kitchen
unless stonehenge is a mere pile of stones
good and real
i was trying to proceed sensibly
to live logically
to hold tight to what is
good and real
foreliving
in frozen january
i catch myself
longing for spring
a gift from sunny florida
every year at Christmas
my grandfather’s sister
sends him a box of oranges
from Florida — sometimes
grapefruits, too, which he
prepares for us of a morning
with an expert hand
secret seeds
my sister gave me a dish
of seeds in soil, saying
if you keep it watered, someday
beautiful things will grow.