la cucaracha
not as playful
as the song

ukulele
in a black case
dust

sometimes the most
beautiful sound of all is . . .
silence

roaring water
the water
never looked better

top quarter champion

TOP half Chamption

bottom quarter champion

the vibrant butterfly
rests on
a wilting flower

the frail man
carries his groceries
alone

Spanish metro;
Italian boys think
we can't understand them

the pastor’s sermon
in the background
we pass notes

TOP half champion

CHAMPION

BOTTOM half champion

roadkill
becomes a little more
flat

opossum in the road
not just playing
dead

cool wind blowing
the geese chase each other
in the calm river

unending surface
of the lake
bobber ripples

top quarter champion

BOTTOM half champion

bottom quarter champion

one short email
erases all hope
for the future

computers filled
the click-clacking of keys
Sunday night

she hangs up her dress
in the back of her closet . . .
until the next funeral

this year
I am a ghost
without a home to haunt