A young stone, one of many children of an old boulder, spawn of older mountain, now down upon its knees-

Ms. does not know she holds time on a leash.

Givens: things you can’t subtract -and those you won’t.

Nests are not thrown together, but carefully assembled ,

The Lake of the Lost Fisherman lies in a long, long valley, not unlike a nine-pin alley

Despite the testimony of my senses theory rules the stage and disciplines imagination. How should it feel to confront impossibility?

  A large tree fell in the forest. No one was there to hear it fall.

We have condemned a million fleets, skippered, to the dark,

You left without goodbye. I miss you

I was a soldier, but no longer I’ve paid the soldier’s dues.

We were catapulted into some kind of sky

Master muralist, almost up but tiring on the concave underside of ornate ancient dome,

Terra cotta, born of man and fire, endures as long as shrine

Long legged orb, lurking hungrily upon her net of latticed air

Lives fall like leaves to compost

One Saturday we went to the Gunpowder River between Pretty Boy Dam and the Chesapeake Bay.

In my far youth it never crossed my roving mind

Satan was a Methodist when I was child six days a week and Jesus’ on Sundays.

Razor gears of waterclock, trim drops from dripping time

The road itself was night dark as space, studded here and there with random light

The light is bad today bad for me, too bright, too thin and sickly; here is Maine again.

Mushroom menagerie, peaceable kingdom of the toxic and the tasty

Why did I come here? Because of the name.

The road out of here, pitted with mirages, writhes and shimmers snakelike

Today is cool for July, a harbinger of fall?

Simpler minded men find consolation in simpler minded women than you.

To wake before, beside you in the early hours between the first song of our morning bird

“I’m going to leave you,” you said. I heard you, I said.

The time has come and gone for my evolution into humanity

I see your face as if it were behind my eyes

Nobody said it wouldn’t hurt. Nobody said it would hurt so much.

The longest night in my darkest life was three months long

This is something different. I sit, but do not wait.

Cavern undesignated on the map, virgin to each visitor brave enough

The tide of paving, poured or pounded, cast and set upon the land

You’re an expensive date high in your gilded tower.

Some say that orphans never cry because no one will heed them.

On a sluggish morning sluggish feet on sidewalks cannot compete with joggers,

No light presages day. Sea and sky are pressed together,

I sleep through spring sometimes prolonging hibernation,

Mute, you silence me. Bright, you darken me.

Hellos are kinder than goodbyes, although goodbyes are in them.

There is room in recalcitrance, for trepidation to seat committees casting leaden ballots and voting shooting war.

Colors set in silence, gems of sound struck by master jeweler in crystal air is birdsong.

She writes with carbide pen upon her side of mirror,

This is a poem. It is for you.

I don’t remember ever hearing of death by marijuana. There are lots of deaths by cigarette, but there are laws to keep smokers from killing others with “second hand smoke”. Heroin, alcohol, cocaine, opium and all the other poisons are, in their extremity, just other forms of self-destruction which, by definition, do not doom or damage others except through...