I need a jar, so desperately need a jar
to place on a hill somewhere.

Prometheus, bring me a jar and place
it on a hill in this small country town.

Some meteorites are invisible. They
Arrive like lightning and change everything
So we forget at once what’s gone away,

One note, one note only, outlines the day.
An almost human sound that rings then fades
Into supple evening. It pretends to mean
Something, like a lone birdsong sometimes might.
It’s the sound at sunset, as the sky goes green

Is it a filament of hope,
goldenrod gleaming
in the tall grasses
as the sentinels of night
assemble around us?

When I'm struck by an idea for a poem, I rarely think about how or whether the material will reach a reader. I'm more worried about trying to understand a situation or event more closely. . . .

Only the fully mortal
can enjoy the hours
before a virgin dawn

God, I hate this
tearing, heart-sick tension
between the soft captivity of love
and the bleak joy of being alone!

She rests her head upon his shoulder
like European statues heads
tilt sideways in Cathedrals.
As if,
they are listening for something.

Lingering
Touching me touching you
What we’ve been through
wouldn’t do
with somebody else

All is lost now.

The roots of the family three

suck hard

deep into the Creation.

He says she slashed the paintings in disgust
with the ugliness of her own body
not recovering from pregnancy

They said that you were dressed right

In your blues, your red and white,

The fresh cut flowers were neatly laid,

The flag was folded as the band had played.