the stories
we tell ourselves
mockingbird

erasing all the marks
             library book
                    on Zen

razor clams
the sharpness
of her tongue

at each end
of the fishing line
arching backs

new moon . . .
the privacy of a river
of stars

thumb in each pocket chatting up parsnips
 

your past selves
in the you I love
open peonies

every year
field stones
the first harvest

the milky way they have
a printing press
down there

how tall his thumbs grass whistle
 

Take Me Out

evening ballgame
behind the Stars & Stripes
a Pride flag

Crackerjacks —
the prize
of feeling ten again

second strike —
high above the infield
a tern changes course

bases loaded —
a steady stream
of inbound planes

chat on the mound . . .
the fan cam
catches a kiss

seventh inning stretch
the long whistle
of a freight train

the road home
stretches into twilight . . .
ex-convict

hay-scented ferns
my childhood
as a horse

love letter
she spots a few words
misspelled

louder
in parts of the room
the memory

school's out
a kid pulls crawdads
from their hidey-holes

map lichen
the long and winding way
to forgiveness

first date in a while —
a cicada leaves
its shell

Oxford comma not for this blue hour

autumn clouds
cottontails scoot
ahead of a combine

spring morning
the woodpecker
off its meds again