
the moon ‘s an echo
of the porchlight that burns
across the yard

the moon ‘s an echo
of the porchlight that burns
across the yard

two parrots peck
as a chipmunk watches -
the outsider

boats in still water,
subdued prows reflect
a world below


shaggy parasol
sits by the sidewalk,
knowing only up

stunted pines
grow from the granite
green and thick

the lake lies ahead,
but my eye settles upon
the blossoms

a fig tree
grew over a building;
that building
collapsed long ago, but
now the tree is the building