Turn the clock’s face to the wall

The equinox happens to all of us

at the same moment around the Earth.

Some things we share, and no one

can change that – no government, no person –

can change the always counter-clockwise moving forward.




Termination Dust


Photo of Denali by Tim Rains, National Park Service.


And suddenly, summer green becomes autumn orange.

Termination dust, that Alaskan high altitude snow

signals summer’s end. But not here. Now.

No mountaintops. Just lawns and fallen leaves.

No blueberries for bear’s dessert before hibernation.

Sleepless and alone, staring at the Moon


I play Satie softly not to awaken

her upstairs. I’m not much of a

musician, more a phonometrician, measuring and writing

down sounds as the Moon approaches fullness,

far from Paris, breathing in 3/4 time.


A Day at the River

“You aren’t just the age you are, you are all the ages you have ever been.” ~ Kenneth Koch


morning, pebbles making small ripples like fish

in afternoon sun, this was my beach

now empty but for summer moon and me

two silver waning slivers silent as water

a bridge that no one is crossing


Reading Basho, I Notice the Cicadas

The tympanal clicks in the hottest hours

counting out a song in another language.

One of mating, and not of love,

that I know well and repeat myself

in the five seven of this poem.


Two Haiku by Basho

Nothing in the cry
of cicadas suggests they
are about to die

Lonely silence,
a single cicada’s cry
sinking into stone