Some recent poems.
I
After traps tangle, slip, hold buoys.
The pale perched plumb bobs, heart throbs,
Black Adirondack china soap dishes in the ceiling.
Thought it walked upon faded
blue glass and Claire was a warehouse.
The barn with an irregular curving fracture
and only a small limestone gargoyle, smooth and sinister.
She’d always lived in a field like an endless house,