August 14, 6:45 pm

3:15 (poems all the time)

more of a memory trick
than anything timely and scheduled. More of
something to make me say "Oops! There's that thing again."
No Swiss-watch precision, no
gong, Big Ben, or cuckoo,
but what it does, it does well:
a little nibble
at the back of my head saying,
"Don't forget to stop & write the poems!"

midnight

Unsettled
                    for Rita

feeling a little stomachs, too much
dairy & not enough houses. Enough
to make anyone sick.
The eyelids, they bid farewell in heaviness
to this day, and your grandpoppa is also
so bade in slipping
off like a secret.
small lights go off in me, hoping
to be a faraway house-in-valley to your foothills:
somewhere you see faraway
                                                  and take comfort.